


Dreams of a Dom

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, Drabble, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-26
Updated: 2006-03-30
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: He's gorgeous, he's buff, he has an attitude that won't quit, he's irresistable.Duh. He's Clive !





	1. Chapter 1: prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Clive made his debut in Career Girl Blues. He proved so popular that he got his own story, and now his own series. Hey, you try saying no when he's standing over you, tapping a strap against his thigh.

 

Clive discovered fan fiction, thanks to his lover, Trenton. He has graciously given me permission (read ordered me) to share some of his very special fan flavored dreams. Try to keep your moniter from melting.

 

What's that? No, Clive, I wasn't being snotty. No, I swear. Please, not the peacock feather!


	2. Chapter 2: Child of the Night

Clive hummed to himself as he put his key in his lock. It had been a wild night at Lavender's Green. Scribe was back in town, and she'd introduced a new dance. If anyone had ever told Clive that he'd do something called 'The Bunny Hop' and enjoy it, he wouldn't have known whether to laugh or to slap them. 

 

But it was fun. It was kind of like a Conga line, but bouncier. Hop front, hop back, hop, hop, hop forward. He found that the song he was humming under his breath was the Bunny Hop song. "Dah dah dah dah dah dah, dah dah dah. Dah dah dah dah dah dah. Hop, hop, hop." He chuckled. It was such an excellent opportunity. After all, you had your hands right there on someone's hips. It wasn't unlikely at all that one's hands would slip to interesting places. Heaven knew it happened to the person behind him often enough. He hadn't been groped that much since the last orgy he'd gone to. 

 

There had been more than one offer of a good time, but Clive had turned them all down. It wasn't that he had turned to chastity, far from it. It was just that he had all he needed right now, and nothing that had been offered was good enough to tempt him. 

 

 

He opened the door and stepped into the darkened apartment. Well, not entirely darkened. There was a dim glow coming from the far corner of the living room. 

 

Clive shut the door quietly and narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness. Sitting before his desk was the reason why he had come home tonight instead of fucking some lucky near stranger into fits of ecstasy--Trenton Vitelli. 

 

Trenton, not yet eighteen and Clive's lover for the last few months, was sitting at the computer that Clive had bought last week. Trenton had talked him into it, convincing him that it would make keeping records for Attitudes infinitely easier--once he learned how to use it. 

 

That was also why Trent was here now, he supposed. Tomorrow was Saturday and Trenton was supposed to come over to show him how to use the spreadsheets and accounting programs. Clive had given Trenton a key to his apartment when the relationship started, knowing that the boy wouldn't abuse it, and Trent had apparently decided to come over early. 

 

Clive put his keys on the table and slowly crossed the room, coming up behind the boy. Trenton never stirred, aside from an occasional motion of his hand, operating that moose thing. 

 

Trenton had his elbow propped on the desktop, and he rested his chin in his hand. Clive peered over his shoulder, curious as to what the boy was doing. It didn't look like one of the business programs he'd purchased. "What are you up to, Trent?" 

 

Trenton jumped, with a gasp. "Clive!" 

 

"Yes. You weren't expecting anyone else, were you, Precious?" 

 

"Oh, no! I just didn't think you'd be back so early." 

 

Clive frowned. "Early? Darling, it's almost two am." 

 

Trenton blinked. "That late? Geez, time kinda ran away from me. I got the Internet hook-up, like I promised. I'm on the 'net now." 

 

"Hm. I wondered what you were up to. Cruising the information highway, eh? What are you reading?" 

 

"Uh..." 

 

"Trenton?" Clive put his finger under Trenton's chin, tipping his face up so that he looked into his eyes. "You're blushing like a virgin bride. I really think I should have a look at this. Get up." 

 

"Look, Clive, I..." 

 

"Up, Precious. Now." 

 

Trenton knew better than to argue when Clive had that tone in his voice. "Yes sir." He stood up, and Clive sat down at the keyboard. "I... I just kind of ran into this." 

 

Clive stared at him, then said softly, "Trent, dearest, you know what happens when you lie to me." Trent's hands unconsciously went to his rump, rubbing. It hadn't happened often, but it had left an impression on him. "Now, would you like to reconsider that last statement?" 

 

"My friend Randy has a computer, and we've been messing around on it, and I... I discovered slash." 

 

"Slash?" 

 

"It's... um... it's sexy stories about guys together." 

 

"Ah. So you have been cruising the Internet. Pornography." 

 

"Are you mad at me?" 

 

"No, Trent. It's natural to be interested about such things. You'll get tired of it quickly enough, I suppose. It's very repetitious after awhile--rather boring." 

 

"No, not this. It's not really pornography. I mean, there is some of it out there, but the stuff I'm reading isn't like that. Not just sex, sex, sex. Well..." he smiled. "there is a lot of that, but there's more, too. The stuff I read is mostly fan fiction, stories written about characters from television or movies or books." 

 

Clive was feeling a little more interested. "You mean someone chooses a couple of characters they like and writes about them doing lots of lovely, dirty things together?" 

 

"That's pretty much it." 

 

Clive was definitely interested now. "Someone might write a story where Batman and Robin are partners in more ways than one?" 

 

Trenton grinned. "Oh, they have reams of stuff about them!" 

 

"Really?" Clive looked speculatively at the monitor. He touched the screen. "What sort have you been reading?" 

 

"Well, there was Death and Doom and the Land of Many Happy Ducks, and... Don't look at me like that, and don't start planning what you're going to do to my butt for it. It's not a lie, it really does exist." 

 

"Mhm. What else?" 

 

"All kinds of stuff! Some of it is kinda hetero-phobic, but most of it is shibby." 

 

Clive stared at him. "You made those words up." 

 

Trent shook his head. "Nuh uh. Learned 'em from Kristen, Beth, and Allison." 

 

"School friends?" 

 

"Net friends. They're fangirls, and they just wuv slash." 

 

"Excuse me, did you just say wuv?" "It's a perfectly acceptable term in netiquette." 

 

Clive sighed. "Usually, Trent, you make me feel young, but sometimes..." He looked at the screen again. "What's this you're currently reading?" 

 

"Oh, that's terrific!" Trenton leaned over Clive's shoulder, pointing. "Would you believe it? It's a slash version of Dracula! Sex and horror--a perfect combination." 

 

"I should say so! Vampires are extremely sexy, but they're always biting big bosomed girls in the movies. Not that there's anything wrong with big bosomed girls, but really... I mean, they live for centuries, you'd think they'd get a little adventurous." 

 

 

"They sure do in this story. Dracula doesn't love Mina or Lucy in this one. He falls in love with a boy named Nicolae." 

 

"How perfectly wonderful." Clive put his hand over the mouse and moved it tentatively. "How does this work again?" 

 

"Let me sit back down and I'll show you. I still have a few chapters to go." 

 

"Oh, I don't think so. It's way past your bedtime, Pet." 

 

"Clive! I want to finish the story." 

 

"It will still be here tomorrow." He paused. "Won't it?" 

 

"Well, yeah. But I'm at a really good part. I think Vlad is about to kill off Ernestu, and I've been waiting for that for..." 

 

"You're going to show me how to get to the beginning of this thing, then you're going to bed." 

 

"But Clive!" 

 

"Trenton." 

 

Trent sighed and showed Clive how to get back to the beginning of the story. "When you want to go on to the next chapter you just click here. When you're ready to go to bed, click here, and here, and it will shut the program down." 

 

"Thank you." He pulled Trenton down and gave him a kiss, flicking his tongue between the soft, parted lips. "Now, toddle off to bed, like my good boy." 

 

Trenton's pupils were wide and dark, and not entirely because of the dimness of the room. He said softly, "You'll be coming to bed later?" 

 

Clive smiled, pulling him close for another kiss. He broke it by biting down lightly on the boy's lush bottom lip, then soothing it with a lick. "Yes, but don't wait up. lover. This looks interesting, and I may be awhile." 

 

Trenton gave a martyred sigh, which Clive ignored, and went into the bedroom. Clive turned his attention back to the computer, murmuring, Homosexual vampires. Now there's a concept that should have been explored ages ago. Let's see. Hmm. A mental movie, eh? Oh, and the author includes a cast. 

 

Click. Ah. Oh. Very nice. Mhm. Oo. Even nicer. Yes, I'm going to have some very interesting visuals with this. Now, back to the story. Click. Thank God, I did it right. I'm going to have to listen very carefully to Trenton. It begins to look like this Internet is a very interesting thing. 'CHILD OF THE NIGHT, The Year of Our Lord 1460, Castle Draculea, Romania. Duties. "My lord, you must marry, and soon." Vlad Tepes Draculea, Prince of Wallachia, slammed his gilded goblet down upon the table, dark red wine sloshing from it's side to stain the rich linen table cloth. He scowled at the old man his father had, before his death, charged with advising him. "Why, Stefan? Why must I?" You tell him, Vlad. 

 

Clive kept reading. He grinned in pleasure when the servant casually began to service Draculea. Oh, Vlad. You're someone I'd like to meet. A natural Dom if ever I saw one. He moved on to the next chapter, thinking that he'd just finish it and go on to bed, perhaps wake Trenton up with a nice nibble on certain sensitive parts of his anatomy. Then Nicolae was introduced. 

 

Heavens. That's almost exactly the type of reaction I had the first time I saw Trenton. Just bam, and I knew I had to have him, sooner or later. "I have a definite craving for one of your servants, I think. Yes, I believe I need him quite badly." Testify, my brother. 

 

Clive kept reading, and reading, and reading. He nodded at the sex scene between Simion and Vlad. Good rendering of a Master/servant relationship. Many writers couldn't grasp the difference between that and Master/slave. The fact that it was very hot helped, too. He chuckled at Nicolae's initial show of reluctance, while it was obvious that he wanted it as much as Vlad did. 

 

He scowled at Ernestu's callous treatment of the boy. When he reached the whipping scene he had to stop and get up to pace the room, working off some of the anger he felt before he damaged something without thinking. A good Dom would never treat a submissive like that! Of course, that was the point. It wasn't consensual. Ernestu was just a sadistic (in the bad way) bastard, and Nicolae was a victim. And incest. It made his blood boil. He realized that this was exactly what the author had intended, and he silently congratulated them. You wanted the bastard to be hated? You achieved your goal, but I have the feeling that Vlad isn't going to let him get away with that shit. 

 

Of course that meant that he couldn't stop reading it till he found out what happened to Ernestu, and that didn't happen for a good number of chapters. He read as Draculea slowly seduced the boy, showing both gentleness and strength--the mark of a good Dom. He almost cheered at Draculea's brutal humiliation of Ernestu before the wedding, and bit his nails worrying that Vlad would rape Nicolae before learning the real reason why the boy had run away. The 'first time' scene was very sweet, and very hot. Finally Ernestu was disposed of in a very satisfying manner. The description of his body's preparation for burial was icky, but interesting. 

 

He shook his head over Beta trying to manipulate Vlad, but people caught up in bad Domme/sub relationships often did foolish or hurtful things. He had to smile when Nicolae threw the pillow at Vlad, and asserted his need for a little say in his own life. You had to let your subbies be a little independent--it wasn't healthy for them to look to you for every tiny decision. 

 

He clicked the button for the next chapter, then blinked at the screen. "What the fuck do you mean, to be continued? There has to be more! Oh, fuck! This thing can't be even halfway over yet! He's not even a vampire, and they haven't gone anywhere near Victorian England, with all those lovely riding crops and canings at school." 

 

He did a quick check of the chapters again, and saw from the dates that one was posted every week to ten days. He scowled. "Well, crap! NOW what do I do?" 

 

He thought. Okay, from what he said there's a lot of this stuff out there. Maybe this author has more work. Trenton said something about searching. I could try to figure that out." His eyes fell on the date and time icon in the bottom right hand corner of the screen, and he blinked. "Or I could go to bed. Christ, it's almost six am. I shouldn't have fussed at Trenton if I'm going to do the same thing. 

 

Clive reluctantly switched off the computer and went into his bedroom. The shades were down on the windows, and there was only the faintest hint of gray under the shades. He stripped quickly and walked over to the big brass bed that held place of pride in the room. He reflected that a brass bed was absolutely perfect for a Dom. So many convenient bars and posts just screaming to be used for restraints. 

 

He paused for a moment to admire Trenton. The boy was still deeply asleep. He lay curved on his side, one fist curled loosely by his face. Clive smiled. With his other arm he was hugging a pillow. The older man let his eyes wander fondly over the emerging planes and angles of the boy's face. He was just now moving into manhood, leaving his puppy stage behind. This was such a delicious time in a young man's life, and Clive was relishing his favored position in the boy's world. 

 

He thought about waking Trenton to make love, but he really was tired right now. It wasn't that he thought he couldn't perform, but he wouldn't be able to give his best, and Trenton deserved more than a half-awake Dom. So Clive got the spare pillow from the closet, slipped into bed, and cuddled up behind his young lover, spooning their bodies together. Trent sighed in his sleep and instinctively nestled his buttocks firmly against Clive's crotch. 

 

Enjoying the warmth and intimacy, Clive closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep, thinking That prince could come nibble on my neck, if he liked, but what I'd really like is to get my hands on his little consort, and I don't mean Beta." 

 

Part Two 

 

Clive blinked, looking around. All right. I have no problem with the suburbs, but this is fucking rural. In fact it was the most undeveloped area Clive had ever seen. Aside from that one time one of his lovers had talked him into taking that cabin up at the lake. He had to smile, remembering that. He admitted that there WAS something a little special about fucking someone tied to a tree, but even there they'd had electricity and indoor plumbing. He squinted through the moonlit darkness and couldn't see a single telephone or pole or power line anywhere. 

 

He looked down at the ground And when was the last time I encountered a dirt road? This is bizarre. I don't know about Kansas, but I am certainly not in Metropolis anymore. 

 

He scanned the area. In one direction he could make out a cluster of small buildings. Shit. Not one of those is much bigger than a good sized RV. Where exactly have I landed? I'd say the Ozarks, judging by those mountains over there. He noticed a much, much, much larger building looming a little farther away in the opposite direction. I think I'll try there first, instead of Dogpatch. He started walking. Though if I could be assured of running into Lil' Abner, I might be tempted to try it. Always wanted to see what he had inside those overalls. 

 

As he approached the edifice, he slowed. Finally, just outside, he halted, staring up at it. Yes, Clive, that is indeed a genuine dungeon-bottomed, turret-topped castle, complete with guards at the gate. He smiled slowly. Did I just say dungeon? I should be right at home. He strolled up to the gate. 

 

The guards watched him approach with a great deal of interest. Finally when he was about ten yards away they lowered their spears into the 'we-mean-business' position, and one of them said, "Halt!" 

 

Clive halted, drawling, "All you had to do was ask, Precious." 

 

"What be yer business here this time o' night, stranger?" 

 

"I'm taking the five dollar tour." When they blinked, he sighed. "I haven't a clue. I was rather hoping someone here could tell me, but it's beginning to look like getting an intelligent response might be a bit harder than squeezing plasma from a pebble." 

 

The guard's exchanged glances, brows wrinkling in obvious consternation. At last the second one said, "'E's either a madman or one o' those nobles what got knocked in tha head by bandits, I reckon. Ether way I 'spect Simion should be told." 

 

"Right. Off ya go." 

 

While the second guard disappeared back into the courtyard that lay beyond the wall, Clive said, "Excuse me, did you just say Simion?" 

 

"Aye. Prince Draculea's head steward. He says what's what, right after tha prince 'imself." 

 

Clive rubbed his hand over his face. "Draculea. Wouldn't happen to be a very tall, dark haired, forceful, sinfully handsome chap, would he?" 

 

"Yuh, that's tha prince." 

 

"Mm. Tell me, is he married to a bitty little thing that thinks a whole lot of herself? And is he, shall we say, fond of a certain tall, young, handsome librarian?" 

 

The spear point lifted to the 'business-is-about-to-open' level. The guard's expression was suspicious. "You know a great lot ta just be passin' through on a tour, stranger." 

 

"You have no idea." 

 

The second guard returned, followed by a stocky, fair haired man with a shrewd face. He regarded Clive closely, and said, "You choose dangerous hours to travel, stranger." 

 

"I didn't choose, Simion. I just sort of showed up." 

 

Simion cocked his head. "You know my name. How is that?" 

 

"It will be a tad difficult to explain. Well, at least to explain in a manner that doesn't make you want to lock me in a looney bin or burn me at the stake. Can I come in? I feel distinctly uncomfortable, surrounded by so much nature." 

 

Simion nodded, beckoning, and Clive passed into the courtyard. "Resume your watch, men." He led Clive toward the castle proper. "I will speak with you, then we will see whether my lord should be bothered, or whether you would be better simply locked away." 

 

"Oh, I think he's going to want to see me. We have a lot in common." 

 

Inside the great hall, Clive stared around in what was the closest he ever approached to wonder. "Good God, I keep thinking that the set designer should have won an Oscar." 

 

"Your name, and your story?" 

 

"Yes, a let's-get-to-it sort of fellow, aren't you? All right, here it is. I am either in the middle of one of the most interesting dreams I've ever had, or I've done a Scribe and somehow fallen into an alternate universe. Either way I find it simply fascinating." 

 

Simion frowned. "Are you saying that you are from another world?" 

 

"Basically, yes." Simion stared at him. Clive stared back. 

 

"It seems you truly believe this yourself." Simion studied him. "Your manner and dress are such as I have never encountered. I think the prince will wish to see you, then decide himself what to do with you." 

 

"Suits me right to the ground, Precious. Lead on." 

 

Simion led him up the great staircase and along several corridors. At one point a door opened, and a thin, sour faced woman, very pale, peeked out. Clive twiddled his fingers at her, "Hello, Lena. How's Beta?" The woman shot him a venomous look before shutting the door. When he noticed Simion's stare, he shrugged. "She's a bitch, but there's no reason why I can't be polite to her." Simion couldn't quite repress his smile. 

 

Simion knocked on a door, and a voice inside called, "Enter." 

 

The room was large and well appointed. There was a huge, high bed draped with a velvet spread, and fur throws. A lusty fire roared in a huge fire place. There were comfortable chairs drawn up before it, but only one of them was occupied. However, it was occupied by two people. When the dark haired youth saw him, he gasped and started to stand up. His companion, much to Clive's approval, wrapped his arms around his waist and held him on his lap. 

 

"Domn!" the boy said urgently. "We have a guest." 

 

"Oh, don't get up on my account, dear boy," Clive said as Simion led him toward the pair. "Please, stay comfortable." 

 

Simion bowed slightly, as did Clive. Normally he didn't go past simple courtesies, but hell, this was a prince, and, from what he could tell, a fellow Dom. After all, didn't the kid even call him by a variation of the title? Simion briefly related what Clive had told him. All the while the pair in the chair watched him. He found himself the focal point of both brown and crystal blue eyes, which he didn't mind at all. Clive had always relished the spotlight. 

 

Draculea looked at his lover. "What say you, Nicu? Does he speak the truth, or is he some new form of spy? Perhaps he's a sorcerer. I suppose I should burn him at the stake, in that case." 

 

Nicolae considered. "First, Domn, I do not believe there are nearly as many sorcerers as The Church would have us believe. Second, if he were a spy, I doubt he would have simply walked up to the gate and confronted the guards at such a late hour. And thirdly..." he shrugged. "I know there are other worlds than this. If I believe in Heaven and Hell, then surely I must believe that the good Lord created other realms. Who is to say that they might not touch at times?" 

 

Draculea nodded. He spoke to Clive. "So, Clive, you are a reluctant traveler?" 

 

"Oh, I wouldn't say exactly reluctant, though I will be wanting to go back soon." He smiled at Nicolae. "You see, I have a boy of my own waiting for me." 

 

Draculea smiled slowly, nodding. He rubbed Nicolae's thighs. "Is he as special as my Nicu?" 

 

"Domn..." Nicolae was blushing. 

 

"He is to me. But your boy is very special. I believe he's a good boy." 

 

"He is." Draculea pulled Nicolae's head down and kissed him. Nicolae cut his eyes at Clive, and tried to pull back, murmuring a protest, but Draculea held him firmly, pressing the kiss. Finally, with a small groan, Nicolae surrendered, parting his lips to allow Draculea's tongue to quest inside. When he finally let Nicolae pull back, Draculea said, "Sit. Simion, wine for my guest. Then you may leave us." 

 

Soon Clive was sitting opposite the cuddling pair, sipping a glass of rather good wine. It certainly was more potent than most from his world. After watching them snuggle for a few moments, he said, "You're a Dom, aren't you? A Dominant?" 

 

Draculea regarded him. "The term is not familiar, but I think I have a sense of it. Do you mean that it is I who is in control when we pleasure each other?" 

 

Nicolae's face was flaming, but he was looking at Clive through half lowered lashes. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Nicolae, you're a submissive, aren't you?" When the boy bit his lip, Clive said gently, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Pet. The person I love best in the world is my own little submissive, Trenton. I don't know what I'd do without my sweet brat." 

 

Nicolae looked at him gravely. "But if you have left him in your own world..." 

 

Clive frowned. "Yes, that's the one part of this I'm not best pleased with, but I've read a thing or two about 'lucid dreaming', where you can consciously direct your dream. I think it's time to try that." He smiled, and it was a beautiful, but hard expression. "Besides, I know my lamb. If he can hear me at all, he'll come running." 

 

Clive stood up, looked up at the ceiling, and said in a loud, firm voice, "Trenton! Trenton, I want you here, right now." There was a moment of silence. Draculea and Nicolae exchanged looks. Clive shook his head. "Don't give it up yet. He's a sound sleeper." He raised his voice to a hard, no-nonsense near shout. "Trenton Vespasian Vitelli, get your round little ass here, on the double!" 

 

There was the sound of rapid footsteps The door to the room burst open and a tall, lean boy with dark curls burst into the room, hurrying to Clive. He took one look at the Dom and dropped quickly to his knees. "Please, Master, cut me some slack. I woke up in what looked like a set from Shakespear in Love and had to figure out how to get here." 

 

Clive ruffled his hair. "I'm not really mad at you, Pet, but that tone of voice does get your ass in gear, doesn't it?" 

 

"You know it does." He pulled a petulant face. "You used that name. I never should have told you." 

 

"Vespasian is a noble name." Trenton peered around Clive curiously and examined the brown eyed young man who was sitting on the lap of a handsome, older man. 

 

Trenton blinked. "You look exactly like Keeanu Reeves. Now I know I'm in a dream." He looked back at Clive. "The question is, am I in your dream, or are you in my dream?" 

 

Clive shrugged. "It hardly matters, does it? After all..." He bent down and kissed Trenton. "We both like the same things." 

 

Trenton smiled. "From different perspectives." He wrapped an arm around Clive's legs and rested his head on the hairdresser's thigh. "I just noticed something, Clive." 

 

"Well, let's see. Would that be the fact that we're in the Child of the Night scenario with two very hot men, or the fact that you're naked?" 

 

Trenton blushed. "The second one, but now that you mentioned it... Clive? You haven't, like, groped Nicolae, or anything, have you?" 

 

"Not yet. Why? Do you object? You haven't to my other playmates." 

 

"It's not that, it's just..." He tugged Clive down so he could whisper in his ear. "That's The Impaler, man, and in the story he is, like, way protective and possessive." 

 

"Yes, but this is the dream version of the story, Trenton." He smiled at the others and addressed Draculea. "He knows me too well. He knows that I'm attracted to your boy, and he's afraid you'll take offence and do something painfully nasty to me." 

 

"Ah." Draculea looked at Nicolae. "Are you offended, Nicu?" Nicu shook his head shyly. Draculea addressed Trenton. "You need not fear for your Master, boy." 

 

Nicolae spoke to Trenton. "It does not hurt or anger you that your lover has... has expressed admiration for another?" 

 

Trenton shrugged. "Clive is Clive. He has to spread it around, I knew that when we got together." He rubbed his face against the leather of Clive's pants. "It doesn't bother you that Draculea is sleeping with his wife?" 

 

Nicolae looked surprised. "No. I know he loves me." When Trenton nodded, he said, "Oh. I see." 

 

Draculea was examining Trenton appreciatively. He said, "Boy, you've reached your adulthood, yet you are as smooth as any child." 

 

Trenton blushed, sliding a glance at Clive. "My Master likes me smooth. I like it, too." 

 

"I've heard that the Eastern potentates favor this, too, but it is the first time I have seen it. Intriguing." 

 

"Trenton, Darling, I know neither one of us is ready for this in real life, but I was just thinking..." 

 

"Yeah, Clive." 

 

"Do you think you might like to...?" 

 

"I said yeah, Clive." 

 

"Good boy." He bent to whisper. "Which one?" 

 

"I don't care. As long as I don't have to act all Dommish." 

 

"Clive, Trenton." They looked over at Draculea. He was stroking Nicolae's hair, who was staring at Trenton. "I have a request. Nicu has never known the joy of mounting another. That will not happen with me. I love my boy, but, well..." Clive and Trenton both nodded in understanding. "I was wondering if Trenton would be willing." 

 

Trenton looked up at Clive, green eyes bright. Clive smiled. "Oh, like I'm going to say no when you look at me like that. Give us a good show, Pet." He sat back to watch as Trenton crawled across the floor to where the other two men sat. 

 

Draculea pushed Nicolae off his lap, then spread his legs and pulled the standing boy back into the vee. Trenton knelt before the other young man and put his hands to his crotch. He fumbled for several moments, and Nicolae groaned quietly. Finally he looked up and said, frustrated, "Dude, I can feel a real nice hard-on in there, but I can't figure out how to open the damn things! There's no zipper or buttons." 

 

Draculea laughed, reaching around from behind. "Ties, young one. Let me." He deftly undid the laces that closed Nicolae's pants, then pushed them down his hips. "Take off your shirt, Nicolae. Let them see how beautiful you are." 

 

Nicolae slipped his shirt over his head as Trenton reached for him. He sighed softly as the other boy took hold of his sex and closed his lips around his cockhead. 

 

Clive watched as his lover began to give the other boy slow, sensuous head. He said, "I'll just get Trenton ready for Nicolae, shall I? That way the dear boy won't have to break his rhythm, because believe me, when Trenton gives you head you don't want to spare the time for lubing and stretching." 

 

Draculea, peering around Nicolae's torso to watch the curly head bobbing up and down over his lover's groin, said, "There is oil beside the bed." 

 

"Not necessary." Clive pulled a tube out of his pocket and opened it. "Astroglide--one of the better inventions." He squeezed a thick smear onto his fingers and put the tube away, kneeling beside Trenton. "Trenton, can you reach back and spread yourself, and still keep your balance?" 

 

Nicolae sounded a little breathless. "I can hold your shoulders, Trenton." 

 

Trent pulled off his cock for a moment, long enough to grin up at him. "That'd work. And by the way, you taste great." Then he bent back to a task that he obviously found very pleasant. 

 

"Could I see some of that?" Vlad asked curiously. 

 

"Certainly." Clive handed him the tube. "Just unscrew the top." Trenton, with Nicolae firmly gripping his shoulders, had reached back with both hands, gripped his buttocks, and spread them, presenting Clive with the open crease. "Perfect, Love." As Draculea squeezed a blob of Astroglide onto his hand and tested it between his fingers, Clive slowly worked one finger deep into Trenton's ass. "Nicolae, you're very lucky to have Trenton for your first time. He's very tight, and very hot." 

 

Nicolae's eyes were a little glazed by now. His hips were making tiny thrusts, driving himself deeper into Trenton's mouth, but Trenton and Clive had worked on this a good deal. It was hard to gag the boy without making an actual effort. He just continued to swallow Nicolae's prick, sucking and using his tongue lavishly. Nicolae gasped as Draculea reached between them and probed between his buttocks. "Domn?" 

 

Draculea kissed Nicolae's side, his other hand sliding up to play with the boy's taut nipples. "We must offer our other guest hospitality, Nicu." 

 

"But..." Nicolae moaned as a second finger slid into him and Vlad began to move them apart, stretching him. 

 

Clive was doing the same with an appreciative Trenton. "I think I know what he intends, Nicu, and I have no problems with it whatsoever. I think you'll like it. It isn't a treat many submissives get: filling, and being filled at the same time." He thrust his fingers into Trenton's snug back passage, crooking to find the little spot that made him shiver and moan so deliciously. He found it, and Nicolae threw his head back as he experienced the vibrations Trenton made. 

 

"Do you know what else is nice about a wet dream like this, Baby?" Clive cooed as he pumped his fingers in Trenton's gradually stretching anus. "No STDs, and no rubbers. You get to have it bareback." Nicolae was twisting his hips, "Gentlemen, I think we should get on with this project, or sweet Nicolae is going to miss his chance." He pulled out and slapped Trenton's rump. "Do me proud, Baby." 

 

When Trenton released Nicolae's spit slick dick, Draculea stood up. His free arm wrapped around Nicolae, two fingers still buried in the boy's ass, he began to urge him toward the bed. Nicolae squirmed. "Domn, please. Let me walk." 

 

"You will, Pet, but like this. I'm not quite through with you yet." 

 

"I cannot. Please, Domn." Draculea's other hand slid down to wrap around his cock, giving him a squeeze. 

 

"It may be a bit awkward, Nicu, but you can do it. Try." He thrust his fingers deeper. "Do it for me." 

 

Clive watched as they made their way slowly and carefully to the bed. The combined stroking of his cock and plundering of his asshole while being forced to perform the mundane action of walking, all the while being the focus of hungry eyes, was driving Nicolae crazy. Clive thought that he'd have to remember this, if he and Trenton ever reached the stage in real life where they decided to swing together. 

 

Trenton followed on his knees, then climbed up onto the bed. "Knees and elbows, Trent. I think that's the best position if it's his first time, and I'll be joining in." 

 

Trenton positioned himself, spreading his knees and putting his head down on his crossed arms. He wiggled his ass, crooning, "Come on, Nick. I've been thinking about you since chapter two." 

 

Draculea released Nicolae with a final pet, then stroked Trenton's ass as Nicolae climbed up on the bed behind the other boy. "You truly have a treasure, stranger. If it were not for my Nicu, I might envy you." He probed at Trenton's opening, and the boy pushed back to meet him, sliding his finger halfway in. "Ah, this little one is eager." 

 

"Prince, I want to ask your permission to do something." He pulled a long leather strap out of his trouser pocket. "If it's all right with Nicolae, I'd like to bind his arms." When he noticed the prince's frown he assured him, "It won't hurt him, but it gives the experience an extra fillip," He smiled, "and it reminds the sub of his position in the scheme of things." 

 

Draculea looked at Nicolae. "Nicu?" 

 

Clive said, "It's an interesting experience, Nicu. Leather can be very erotic. Ask Trenton." 

 

Trenton sighed. "Oh, yeah. I'd advise it, Nicolae." 

 

The older man rubbed the strap against Nicolae's cheek. "It's very soft and smooth. Feel." Nicolae's eyes half closed. "I'll be careful of you, Pet. You'll like it. I'll take good care of you." 

 

Nicolae slowly put his hands behind his back. "No, precious. Like this." He got the boy to bend his elbows, bringing his forearms together, and he quickly tied them together. Then he pulled out two more straps Oh, it's so handy to have whatever you need in your dreams and quickly tied his wrists just below the opposite elbows. "Try those." Nicolae pulled, and couldn't move his arms a fraction. "One of my better jobs." 

 

"Domn?" Nicolae looked between Draculea and Clive. "I don't know how I'm going to do this." 

 

Trenton snickered. "You don't really have to do anything, if you don't want to." 

 

Clive was stripping, quickly and efficiently. "That's true, dear. Between Trenton and myself, we can take good care of you. But my prince," He looked at Draculea. "You shouldn't be left out." 

 

Draculea sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his pants. "Do not fear, my friend. This time is for Nicu." He began to stroke himself slowly. "I will be contented to watch." He reached under Trenton and caressed him gently, "and perhaps play with your little friend a bit." Trenton leaned over to rub his face against the other man's arm gratefully. 

 

"Now, Nicolae. Hold still, and we'll get you situated." Clive reached around him. With his right hand he gripped Nicolae's hard-on firmly and used his left hand to part Trenton's buttocks. "Look, Nicolae. Isn't he beautiful?" His thumb teased Trenton's slightly spread opening, making him moan. "This is for you. You're going to fuck my sweet boy, and you're going to give him a good time, aren't you?" 

 

Nicolae's voice was hoarse. "I hope so, Domn." 

 

Clive rubbed his hard cock against Nicolae's rump. "And I'm going to fuck you. Feel how hard I am for you, sweetheart? Trenton, you've never done this before. You're going to be able to feel the force of my thrust pass through Nicolae into your body. It will almost be like both of us are screwing you." 

 

"Oh, damn. Please, Clive, put him in me." He moved his hips, pushing his cock deeper into Draculea's strong grasp, and the prince laughed softly. 

 

"Yes, friend. Do not make our dear ones wait any longer." 

 

Clive pressed Nicolae's rosy glans to the slick opening. "Push, Nicu, slowly. Very slowly." Nicolae pushed. As he slipped into the grip of Trenton's body, his head dropped back, and he drew in a deep gasp. "Don't stop, boy. Keep going, all the way. Don't be afraid, Trenton can take it. He'll enjoy it." Nicolae's chest was heaving as he pushed forward. At last he was sunk fully in Trenton's yielding flesh, resting against his buttocks. His chest hitched slightly, and he gasped, "Vlad!" 

 

Draculea stopped masturbating a moment to rub the boy's shoulder. "Yes, sweet boy. It feels good, doesn't it?" 

 

"Oh, Vlad. So tight, so hot." 

 

"Trenton, baby," Clive said quietly. "Squeeze." He watched the slight tensing of that long, smooth back, the ripple of muscles beneath the skin. When Nicolae whimpered he knew that the motion had reached its target. Clive grabbed Nicolae's hips and held him firmly, just in time to keep him from thrusting. "Not yet, Nicu." 

 

"Please, Master," he whined. 

 

"Wait." He spread the pale globes of Nicolae's buttocks and fitted himself to the slick pucker of Nicolae's opening. "Wait." 

 

He pushed strongly. Nicolae cried out quietly as he was entered, but it was not a sound of pain. "Oh, yes." Clive reached past the boy and gripped his lover, pinning Nicolae between them. "Now." He ground against Nicolae, and Nicolae in turn ground against Trenton. 

 

Draculea resumed stroking himself, and Trenton. Clive grunted as he moved against the boy before him. "These are a couple of lucky little boys, Prince Draculea. Both of them are being pleasured two different ways. I'd say they owe us a thank you, wouldn't you?" 

 

The prince had stopped stroking himself again, but continued to squeeze and milk Trenton's cock. Clive liked that. There was always room in the world for another thoughtful Dom. He alternately rubbed Trent's heaving back and his own lover's chest, plucking at the hard nipples. 

 

Nicolae was making a low, continual sound, and Clive could see the muscles jumping and straining in his arms and shoulders. He wanted so badly to be able to grip and touch, but Clive was an expert in restraint. Nicolae was not getting free till someone released him. 

 

Clive sped his efforts, plunging into Nicolae hard and fast. Nicolae rocked back and forth, feeling a dizzying mixture of helplessness and power. He was plumbing Trenton's depths, and doing it well if the small cries the boy made were to be believed, but he was also being possessed as fully as ever he had been. In other words, it might be Nicolae's prick inside Trenton, but there was no doubt that Clive was controlling things. A comforting sense of being cared for washed over Nicolae. 

 

Clive would have laid money that Nicolae would have been the first to reach completion, but it was Trenton. Since he hadn't been ordered to resist climax, he gave himself over to it eagerly, filling Draculea's hand with hot sperm as he twitched and whimpered. The prince carelessly wiped his hand on the velvet spread, then lifted Trenton's head and kissed him as Nicolae continued to drive into him. 

 

Trenton managed to stay up, but only because his legs and back were so strong from all his long hours of swimming. He began to buck back onto Nicolae's prick, bearing down on him as tightly as possible, determined to bring him off. He was, after all, performing for the first time before his Master, and he wanted to make a good show of it. It might determine whether or not there was ever another encounter like this, and Trenton rather thought he would like that. 

 

He finally felt the hot gush deep in his rectum that signaled Nicolae's completion. The boy shouted as he lunged into Trenton's ass, Clive's added force driving him almost up to Trenton's navel, or so it felt. 

 

"Trenton, honey, get out from under there and take care of the prince," Clive ordered. When Trenton crawled out from under Nicolae, Clive quickly tipped him into Trenton's former position. Since Nicolae's hands were tied, Clive made sure to turn his face to the side so he wasn't stifled before resuming a near punishing pace. 

 

Meanwhile Trenton moved to where Draculea had sat on the edge of the bed, moved his head over the other man's crotch, and began to suck him off. Draculea put his hands in Trenton's hair, holding him steady, and began to thrust up, but with short, careful strokes. Clive watched him closely, remembering the damage he had been able to do when he used fellatio as a form of punishment for Ernestu in the story, but this time there was no negative intention, and both partners enjoyed it immensely. 

 

Draculea soon stiffened, burying himself fully in Trenton's mouth. Clive came when he saw the thick, white dribble oozing from the corners of Trenton's wide stretched lips. He spewed into Nicolae's depths as Trenton pulled back off Draculea's softening cock and began to lick his lips clean, like a contented cat. 

 

As he felt the warm, tingling pulses of his orgasm, Clive felt something else a little peculiar. Things seemed to be fading. All the color seeped from the scene before him, then the edges blurred. Oh, no. I do not believe this! I've never yet passed out after coming, and I'm not about to start now. 

 

But it didn't seem that he had any choice. Things had faded to a dark grey, then complete blackness... 

 

and he suddenly realized that he was lying on his back, instead of being up on his knees, and someone was shaking him. A familiar voice was saying, "...almost noon, and I'm starved, and there isn't anything to eat here, and don't you dare make a crack about fellatio. Wake up, please?" Clive opened his eyes to find Trenton, fully dressed, leaning over him. "Finally. I was considering getting a glass of cold water to dump on you, except I'm kinda fond of the skin on my ass." 

 

"Wise lad." Clive yawned and stretched. 

 

"How long did you stay on the Internet last night, anyway?" 

 

"Long enough so that I'll probably welcome a nap this afternoon. I had the oddest dream." 

 

Trenton grinned. "Well, it must've been a good one, considering the state of your sheets." 

 

"Really?" Clive ran a hand down his own belly and encountered a familiar stickiness. "Heavens, I haven't had a wet dream in simply ages, but if anything deserved gummed up sheets, this one did." 

 

"Yeah? I had a pretty good one myself." Trent sat at the foot of the bed as Clive got up and made his way to the bathroom. "I guess it was from reading right before I went to bed. I was in the Child of the Night story." 

 

He heard Clive turn on the shower. "Is that so? I'd sing a chorus of "It's a Small World After All", but I can't handle massive doses of sugar before my first cup of coffee. So, were you being ravished by that devil of a prince?" 

 

"No. Actually I was getting screwed by the ingenue--Nicolae." 

 

Trenton was surprised to hear the shower door jerk open, and even more surprised when a naked and dripping Clive appeared in the bathroom doorway. "Precious, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Did your dream start with hearing me call you, and trying to find me in some big rock pile of a castle?" 

 

Trenton's mouth dropped open. "How did you know that?" 

 

"You had trouble getting into Nicolae's pants because you weren't used to flies that didn't unbutton or unzip?" 

 

Trenton swallowed. "Thinking about opening up a psychic friends hot line, Clive?" 

 

"And I had Nicolae's arms tied, and was fucking him while he fucked you?" 

 

Trenton's voice, which he had been sure had completely reached it's adult register, cracked. "You're freaking me out now, Clive." 

 

Clive smiled. "Oh, I don't think there's anything to be worried about, dearest." He walked over to his young lover, leaving puddles on the floor, and cupped his chin. "Don't I always take care of you? Didn't I then?" 

 

Trenton nodded, some of the apprehension leaving him. "Yeah." 

 

Clive kissed him. "I'll have to try that lucid dreaming thing again. It's a blast. And besides..." he kissed Trenton again, then started back to complete his shower. "What could be more natural than finding the man that I love in my dreams?"


	3. Chapter 3: You Knew It Had to Happen, or Clive Meets Hairboy

Crossover: The Sentinel

 

 

Yawn 

 

"Excuse me?" 

 

Clive blinked. "I'm sorry, darling, but I did cover my mouth, didn't I?" Clive shot a warning glare at Trenton, who had been preparing to make some remark about Clive and open mouths in general. Trenton quickly bent over his broom, sweeping a patch of floor that he had cleared of hair clippings five minutes ago. Clive smiled charmingly at the woman in the cosmetologist chair. "It wasn't disinterest, pet, it was simple lack of oxygen." The middle aged woman crooked an eyebrow doubtfully. "You were telling me about that dog you're married to and the dessert cart girl providing him with a bit of off the menu cherry tart?" 

 

She sighed. "Oh, I know he's been unfaithful before, but really. I'm sitting there in the middle of Lorimar's with two place settings and no dinner companion in evidence, the object of pity for all the other diners, while he's tearing off a piece in the supply closet." She shook her head. "I've had enough. I think I'm going to..." 

 

"No, dear. I listened to what you were contemplating, and I must advise you that it would not be a good idea to neuter him. Oh, theoretically and ethically it's an excellent idea, but practically? No. The courts take a dim view. But I tell you what..." Clive took out a small notebook and clicked his pen with a flourish, beginning to write. "I'm giving you the number of an excellent divorce lawyer, a personal friend of mine. He can remove your spouse's balls financially, and from what you tell me that will hurt him much more than the physical damage would. And you're absolutely entitled. There are such things as open relationships," he tossed Trenton a look that was a bit fonder than the other one had been. "but the door has to swing both ways. If both partners are interested, fine. If only one is... Well, it's just old fashioned cheating, then. Bettina, precious, trim those bangs. The lady has that English sheepdog effect going on." 

 

That bit of instruction passed on, Clive fastened his eyes on Trenton and strode to the back of the store to meet the boy. "You were thinking of making a comment back then, dearest?" 

 

Trent looked down with a slight smile. "No, not at all." 

 

"Good." 

 

"But I was wondering about that yawn. If you weren't bored, what was it?" Clive examined his nails. "Clive, how late were you up on the 'net last night?" 

 

"None of your business." 

 

"New chapters got posted, huh?" 

 

Clive sighed. "Three different works-in-progress with new chapters, and a couple of short stories, and then I made the mistake of doing an author search for Scribe on fanfiction.net." 

 

Trenton rolled his eyes, grinning. "Oh, man! There's a ton of stuff there, and I know you. You couldn't just read a little, could you? You gorged yourself worse than I did that time you bought me the box of Guinniver chocolates, didn't you?" 

 

Clive frowned. He felt a little sheepish, but he wasn't about to admit that to his submissive. "Perhaps I overdid it a little." 

 

"How late?" 

 

Clive sighed. "It was three am when I looked at the clock the last time, and I read another chapter before I went to bed." He frowned. "You know, I'm more and more suspicious that my Scribe has something to do with the 'net Scribe. After all, we haven't quite figured out all the ramifications of that interdimensional thing. I think she's slipping stuff in, and just won't admit it to me." His eyes narrowed. "I may have to bring it up the next time I have her in the chair." 

 

Trenton considered this. "That should be interesting. Can I watch?" 

 

"We'll ask." yawn "Dear. I think I need a nap." 

 

Trenton's eyebrows rose. "At your age?" 

 

Clive tweaked Trenton's nose. "Your ass is mine, dearest, and I will tan it slightly later on for that remark." 

 

"Maybe I meant that you're still too young to need a nap in the afternoon." 

 

"That's possible, but knowing you, not probable. Anyway, I've earned the right to nap in the afternoon if I wish." 

 

"Yeah, sure. But look, you do remember that you're going to talk to my 'net friend this afternoon at three?" 

 

Clive sighed. "Yes, dear. But you remember that all I promised was to talk. I find it highly unlikely that I'll be inspired to take him on as a client. You know how picky I am." 

 

"I know, I know. But even if you don't take him on personally you can instruct one of the others in the best way to help him out, right?" 

 

"Certainly. Does he have some sort of special problem? Split ends? Bad perm or dye job?" 

 

"Not that I know of. It's just that he's up for a part in a movie, and he has a specific look he's going for." 

 

Clive sighed. "He's going to bring in a photograph and say 'Make me look like this', isn't he? That's usually done by people... For them to get the effect they want, I'd have to shave their head and slap on a wig." Clive paused. "Not that I don't enjoy doing that, too, but you know what I mean." 

 

"Yeah, I know. No, what it is, is that they're doing a movie." He shuffled his feet. "Um, well, it isn't exactly mainstream." 

 

"Oh, this sounds interesting. How far up the creek from mainstream is this venture?" 

 

"Well, it's... It won't be playing at the Starland Cinema. Maybe the art house." 

 

"Will this movie feature the undraped human form?" 

 

"Extensively. And the undraped forms will be exclusively male." 

 

"Ah! Now that is interesting!" 

 

"It gets better." 

 

"I don't see how it possibly could, but go ahead and tell me." 

 

"What are your two favorite letters of the alphabet?" 

 

Clive's face lit up. "Trenton! B and D?" Trenton grinned. "I'll have to take a very hard look at this young man." 

"It gets better still." 

 

That made Clive hesitate. "How?" 

 

"Clive, you've done a search on Scribe in ff.n, right?" A nod. "Have you run into her Swingers Series?" 

 

Clive blinked. "Oh, you mean that one with that delicious detective couple who keep running into hot men from other television shows?" Trenton nodded. Clive gasped, round eyed. "Not the one with the Mountie?" 

 

"I'm not sure exactly which one, but he's up for one of the parts." 

 

Clive grabbed Trenton and planted a deep kiss. There were titters and wolf whistles, but that didn't shorten the kiss appreciably. Trenton was gasping by the time Clive let him come up for air. "Thank you, Trenton! Well, I'm not going to be able to sleep now, but I'll just go back in my office and rest my eyes a few minutes. Must look fresh for the customers." 

 

Humming happily, Clive went back into his office, hung the 'DISTURB THE DOM AT YOUR OWN PERIL' sign on the knob, and shut the door. He settled himself in the comfortable swivel chair behind his desk and leaned back, happily contemplating the possibilities. Which character would the actor be up for? Jim? Blair? Rafe? Simon? Any and all possibilities were intriguing, though being a Dom he did have his preferences. Even though he'd read some fictions where Ellison was the submissive partner (and very nice they were, too), he just cottoned to Blair so much more in that role. Well, duh. There is the hair issue, after all. Jim even calls him 'Hairboy' now and then. 

 

Despite his anticipation, Clive found his eyelids drooping, and another yawn threatening. Just a catnap, he thought. Just a doze. Five minutes, tops. 

 

He went sound asleep, slumped back in his chair with a smile on his face. Trenton, if he had been foolish enough to have peeked in right about then, would have thought that this was one of the times Clive definitely did not look innocent while he slept. 

 

Rapraprap 

 

Clive sat up with a start. "Shit! I didn't think I was that soundly asleep!" He glanced at his clock and frowned, then called, "Trenton Vitelli, if that's you, I'm not going to just tan your butt, I'm going to blister it." 

 

"Uhhh... sorry." 

 

That wasn't Trenton's voice. In fact, it wasn't a voice he recognised at all. Who on earth was foolish enough to ignore the sign? "Who are you and what do you want?" 

 

"Well, we need an appointment, and we were told to ask for you. You're Clive, right?" 

 

"Did you see a sign on this door saying 'Receptionist'? Talk to the girl at the front counter." 

 

"But there isn't anyone at the counter." 

 

"Well, piss. She knows she's supposed to get someone to cover if she has to leave. Just talk to one of the other stylists, there should be someone free." 

 

"Actually, there isn't anyone out here." 

 

"What?" That got Clive up and over to the door. He jerked it open... 

 

...to be confronted by a whole lot of man. All of it very, very nice. Oh, my! That is impressive. Clive took some of the snarl out of his voice as the stranger took a step back. "Excuse me. Did you mean that there was no one who looked like they knew what they were doing? If all you saw was Bettina, that's perfectly understandable." 

 

"Uh, no. I meant no one. As in not a living soul." 

 

"Well, I won't say that's impossible, because very few things are impossible, but it's highly unlikely." The stranger oo, what pretty blue eyes blinked and shrugged. 

 

"All I know is I came in here to see about getting a walk-in appointment for my partner while I take care of some business, and the place looked deserted." 

 

"Not for yourself? Drat." 

 

He smiled. "Well," he ran a hand over short, sleek, dark hair, which grew back from a definitely high forehead. "I don't have all that much use for hair styling these days. Blair is a different story." 

 

Clive froze. "Blair, you say?" 

 

"Sandburg: my partner. He's shaggy all the time, but it's been getting downright unkempt lately, and I told him it was time to tame the mane." 

 

Clive pointed. "Is your name by any chance Jim Ellison?" 

 

Crystal blue eyes narrowed. "It is. How would you to know that?" 

 

"Just a moment." Clive pinched himself, nipping the skin at his wrist sharply. "Ouch! Well, I'm not sure exactly what that proves, but I've about decided what's going on." 

 

Jim cocked his head, regarding him, and said in a low voice, "You know, you didn't have to do that yourself. If you really wanted to be pinched, I could have done it for you." 

 

Clive gave him a smile. "Thank you, but I'm usually on the administering end myself." He indicated the sign, and Ellison nodded in understanding. "Now, if you'll just move that magnificent frame aside for a moment, I'd like to go up front and see what's going on." 

 

Jim let Clive pass and followed him up through the silent, empty salon. He'd been accurate, there wasn't a soul to be seen. And the store was neat and squared away, like it had just opened and hadn't yet had a customer. Clive went behind the front counter while Jim went back around the front. 

 

Clive peered through the front windows. The street outside was eerily deserted, too. That clinched it: this had to be a dream. At this time of day there would have been a steady stream of traffic and pedestrians. He checked the appointment book, and found that all the pages were blank, pristine. 

 

"Well, it doesn't look as if I have any appointments anytime soon, so I suppose I can fit your partner in easily enough." 

 

"Glad to hear it." Jim leaned on the counter and said, conspiritorialy, "He's going to gripe about this, but he knows he needs this, and I'm confident that you'll be able to handle his objections. Your reputation preceeds you." 

 

"Ah. Then you know about the private station, and wouldn't mind me taking him back there?" 

 

"Not at all, as long as he doesn't mind." 

 

Good. From the stories, they're in a committed relationship, but it's as open as the proverbial barn door, and since this is my dream... 

 

The door opened, bell above tinkling faintly, and a Vision came to stand beside Ellison. Oh, and that is capitalized. Woof! 

 

A bit shorter than Clive, he was not quite sturdy enough to be considered chunky, and had smoky blue eyes set in a face that was somehow beautiful without being feminine at all, and... the hair. 

 

The hair! 

 

A fall, a wave, a cascade, a tumble, a... a... a plethora of hair. It fell over his shoulders and reached almost to the bottom of his shoulderblades in a riot of red-brown waves and curls. 

 

"Clive?" Clive didn't respond. The sunlight streaming through the window was picking out the red highlights in his hair. "Yo, Clive." A hand was waved in front of his eyes. He ignored it, focusing on the hair. He thought that had to be at least three feet of hair if it was stretched out, maybe more. "Sandburg, maybe he's a Sentinel. He seems to have zoned." 

 

Clive blinked, coming back to himself. I will not rape him, I will not rape him, I will not rape him. I will damn sure seduce him, though. "No, I just got a little... distracted." He came around the counter, approaching the Vision, and set his voice at 'purr'. "Well, hello, there." 

 

"Uh, hi." Blair darted a look at Jim. 

 

"So, Blair, you want a cut." 

 

"No, not really, but Jim says..." 

 

"That wasn't a question, dear. It was a statement." 

 

Blair took in the high boots, leather pants, silk shirt, and leather vest, all basic black. Then he took in the predatory gleam in Clive's eyes. "Jim? Exactly what have you gotten me into?" 

 

Jim shrugged. "Nothing you haven't been in before, baby boy. No need to thank me." 

 

"Before we go any further I need to take a look at that hair," Clive stated. 

 

Blair took a wary step back. "Fine. Look." 

 

"A close, personal look, dear." He walked behind Blair. "Just hold still a minute." 

 

"Jim?" There was a hint of a whine in his voice, and Clive smiled. Petulant submissives could be a lot of fun. 

 

"Oh, come on, Sandburg." 

 

Clive spent a moment just looking at that lush mass of hair, trying to decide where he'd touch it first. It was like being at a well appointed buffet line: you just didn't know whereto start. Finally he reached out, sliding his hands up under the heavy fall till he found the hairline, and lifted the silky bulk, weighing it in his hands. He shuddered and sighed. 

 

Jim was watching, curious, and he said, "Yeah, I like it, too. But I don't think I like it as much as you do." 

 

"My dear friend, no one likes hair as much as I do." He slowly let the silken tresses sift through his fingers and said wistfully, "I don't suppose I could interest you in a burr?" 

 

Blair yelped and jerked away. Luckily Clive had let go of his hair by then, or the yelp would have been much more heartfelt. Blair scooted behind Jim. "No freakin' way, man!" "Oh, I was teasing! I'd never do that to a healthy crop of hair, it would be sacrilege. But there are some dead ends. You definitely need a trim." 

 

Blair looked up at Jim. "Look, we have a pair of scissors back at the hotel. Give me five minutes in front of a mirror and..." 

 

"You will not!" Both Jim and Blair flinched. Clive didn't raise his voice all that often, but when he did, people paid attention. Clive glared at Blair. "The very idea!" He looked at Jim and snapped, "You should be spanking him right now for even suggesting such a thing!" 

 

Jim turned glittering eyes on Blair. "I prefer to keep the discipline private, but he'll be hearing about embarrassing me, when we get home." Blair swallowed, but Clive noticed a bit of a stir in the crotch of his tight jeans. "Blair, you're going to stop making a fuss about this." 

 

Blair looked down at his feet and mumbled. "Okay." 

 

Jim turned back to Clive. "How much do you think needs to be taken off? I don't want to lose much." He stroked Blair's head. "I won't be able to use it to tie him to the headboard anymore if you take more than a few inches." 

 

Clive smiled. "I knew you were a fun couple." He lifted another handful of Blair's hair, examining it. "I'd say about..." He measured off with his thumb and forefinger. "somewhere around this much. Certainly not any more." 

 

"That'd work. Well..." he went toward the door. "I'll be back later." 

 

Blair started after him. "Jim, I really don't think... Eep!" 

 

Clive had caught him by the collar of his flannel shirt. "Precious, will you just calm down? Hasn't your Daddy ever turned you over to another Dom for a little... mmm... babysitting?" 

 

Blair flushed. "Not alone, he hasn't." 

 

Clive let go of his collar and rubbed his neck soothingly. "It's going to be all right. You haven't really been bad, just a little naughty, a little headstrong. You expect to be corrected when you act up, don't you?" 

 

Blair looked at the floor. "Yes, sir." 

 

"That's much better. The right attitude is so important. But Blair..." Clive took hold of his chin, tipping it up so that their eyes met. "If you truly don't want to do this, then we won't. I'm not interested in an unwilling submissive. Now, do you want to go after your friend, or do you want to stay here and play with me?" 

 

Blair gave him a considering stare. Then he bowed his head, took Clive's hand, and placed it across the back of his neck. "Whatever Master wishes." 

 

Clive gave him a brief squeeze. "What is your safe word, slave?" 

 

"Lupine, if it pleases Master." 

 

"It's a lovely word. Walk back to the door on the right, eyes down." 

 

Clive locked the door, then followed Blair back to his private station, enjoying the show. Blair was putting a little extra twitch in those hips, he was pretty sure. If he walked like that all the time, then his Dom probably had to carry a stick to beat other Doms off him. No, wait. We'd enjoy that. 

 

Blair halted just inside the room, eyes still demurely down. Clive closed the door to the station and walked around the young man, studying him. "You're not new to this, are you, precious?" 

 

"No, sir. May I speak?" 

 

"Oh, you are experienced! The new one's never think to ask for permission. You may." 

 

"Actually, sir, I'm a switch." 

 

"You don't say? I would have pegged you for pure submissive, but I guess even I can occasionally be mistaken. Who do you top?" 

 

Eyes still on the floor, Blair's smile widened. "Jim." 

 

Clive froze, gaping. "Do you mean to tell me that magnificent, testosterone oozing creature bottoms?" 

 

"Not often, sir, but he really gets into it when he does." 

 

"Oh, my. Pardon me a minute while I fan myself. What a mental image you've just given me, child! Well, I'll have to see if I can't talk Jim into a trim later on, or at least a shampoo and condition. Now, then. Take your clothes off." 

 

Blair stripped efficiently, folding his clothes neatly. "I see you don't have to be warned about the clothes, either." 

 

"Jim would skin my butt, sir. He's anal in more ways than one." 

 

"You're a bad boy, Blair." 

 

Clive was standing in front of the young man. Blair didn't lift his head, kept his face tipped respectfully toward the floor, but he peeked up at Clive through his lashes. "Sometimes, yes, sir." 

 

"Eyes down, young man!" 

 

He dropped his eyes quickly. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." 

 

"You get one, and that's all." He began walking around Blair, studying him with growing appreciation. Blair had reached his physical maturity, but hadn't yet begun the inevitable softing, the subtle drooping and rounding of muscles giving way to gravity. He was a little stocky, just a little. Enough to make him look solid and substantial. Oh, and the hair. 

 

Not just on his head, oh no. The little doll was a BEAR! Not the back (that was a bit much, even for Clive) but he was nicely furred on the chest, with a respectable amount on the legs and arms. The boy wouldn't be able to go a day without shaving unless his Jim didn't mind beard burn. 

 

Clive stopped before him and, reaching out with his pointer finger extended, touched his belly button. Blair's abdomen flexed. *Ah, very responsive. Nice.* There was a treasure trail of hair, just the faintest hint of red in the brown, and he followed it, slowly sliding his finger down, lower and lower, till he reached the top of his pubic bush. 

 

"Now, that's a nice, lush crop of pubes." He lets his finger drop another fraction, brushing along the upper line. "How attached are you to it?" 

 

"Sir?" 

 

"I'm not talking a clean shave, precious. Just a trim. Neaten it up a little. Would Jim mind?" 

 

"I... cut them?" 

 

"Yes or no, Blair. Would Jim mind?" "Well... uh, I don't think I'd better do away with them without asking first, but I guess shortening them wouldn't bother him." 

 

"Excellent." Clive kept up the stroking, gently ruffling the curls. That was all for a moment. Blair thought about asking a question, but decided he'd better not. Clive had said he got one. And what he was doing felt... interesting. 

 

"Well, well." Blair glanced farther down, managing to look without moving his head. He was surprised to see that he was starting to get hard. "I do believe that you're getting interested. At least part of you is." He walked behind Blair, moving up close. Blair felt him press against him, and there was a warm, firm nudge against his rump. "I share your interest." 

 

Clive stepped back and went to his chair. He fiddled with it for a moment, raising one section and lovering another till it resembled a padded table. "Now, up on the chair while I decide what we're going to use." 

 

Blair went to the chair and sat on the edge. Leather. On bare skin. Yowza. And I think I may get leather on bare skin at least one more way before this is over with. If I'm lucky. "Sir? Can I ask a question?" 

 

"You may." Clive had gone to the large, standing cabinet in the corner. 

 

"Is it all right if I watch you?" 

 

"Would you like that, precious?" 

 

"Yes, sir. I like to watch you." 

 

"Flatterer. Yes, you may." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

"You're welcome." 

 

Clive opened the cabinet, and Blair gaspped. "Oh, Damn!" 

 

"That's two, precious. I'm going to have to pink you up a little for that, but that's what you intended, isn't it?" Blair decided that it might be wise to not push too much, too quickly, so he remains silent. "That's what I thought. The first order of business is a nice strap." He reached in and pulled out a wide, thick strip of brown leather. "I think an old fashioned razor strop is appropriate." Blair fidgeted, licking his lips, imagining that across his ass. 

 

"Then we need restraints." He reached into the cabinet, sifting through straps, cords, chains, ropes, scarves. He chose two sets of wide, velvet padded shackles for the ankles. Now, the wrists. Handcuffs? There was a nice assortment. The silver, or the gilded? Possibly the old fashioned black iron ones? Or maybe... 

 

"Oh, yes." He opened a small drawer and reached into it. "I have something very, very special for you, Blair. I've never used this with any of my other playmates, but I think... Yes, I'm sure that she would approve." 

 

He sauntered back over to the chair and deposited his load on the counter. "Why aren't you on your belly, boy?" With the quickness and grace of an acrobat Blair stretched out and flipped over on his belly. "Toes pointed and arms over your head." Blair positioned himself as directed. "Very good. Now, just out of curiosity, how many strokes would Jim give you for that little demonstration when you got a look into my toy chest?" 

 

Blair hesitated. "Five." 

 

Clive's voice was gentle, but it held warning. "Are you absolutely sure about that?" 

 

Blair winced. "All right. Ten." 

 

"Don't you feel better for telling me the truth? You get ten, and another ten for lying." 

 

"Clive!" 

 

"Five more for protesting." 

 

"I..." 

 

"And another five." 

 

Blair swallowed. "Thank you, sir." 

 

"Good boy. I'm afraid your haircut's going to be a bit less pleasant that it could be. The sitting is going to be rather uncomfortable. There's a rail across the top of the chair. You might want to hold on to it." 

 

Blair felt around and located the bar, gripping it tightly. Clive dangled the stap over Blair, letting the end tickle against his back. When he trailed it down to his ass, the boy shivered. "Shall I double the strap, or swing it single?" 

 

"Whatever you think best, sir." 

 

"Mm, I'd say doubled. I can control it better than way. We want to keep all the action on that pretty ass and perhaps the back of the thighs. We don't want it licking off into other territories." Clive doubled the strap, taking a tight grip on the end. "Are you ready?" 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

"You will keep count." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Clive started with a medium stroke. It made a flat, popping sound when it struck, and Blair's only reaction was a slight flinch. "One." Another stroke. "Two." Another. "Three." 

 

"All right, I think I've got your measure now." Blair heard a swishing sound, and a stinging line of pain burst across his ass. He yelped in surprise and pain. "I said count, dear." 

 

"Four, sir." Clive swung the strap in a slow, steady rhythm for another twenty strokes. By then Blair felt like his ass had been tattooed: it stung as if he'd had a million pinpricks. He was very, very hard. 

 

"You should see your ass, darling. It looks like two scoops of strawberry ice cream. When I'm done I'll hold the mirror so you can admire it yourself. Now I think it's time to really begin the ass whipping." 

 

Alarmed, Blair said, "What do you mean, begin?" 

 

Clive chuckled warmly. "Oh, precious, you didn't think that was the best I could do, did you? When I'm done you'll look more like raspberry sherbert. One more time, hang on. This is going to smart." 

 

The strap didn't swish this time, it whistled. It hit Blair's flesh with a popping sound like a firecracker going off. "Yow! Twenty-five." Crack "Ow! Twenty-six. Oh, geez, this is worse than the time I did his wash with my new red T-shirt and he ended up with pink jockeys." 

 

"I happen to like my own pink silk boxers, but then I chose them." Crack. 

 

"Twenty-seven!" Now it felt like someone was rubbing alcohol into the pinpricks. CRACK. "Twenty-eight!" He couldn't hold back a whimper. 

 

"Oh, you're very brave, pet. Two more. If you take them without crying out, I'll give you a treat. But I warn you, I'm not holding back." 

 

Blair gritted his teeth, sqeezing his eyes shut. There was the hiss of the strap approaching, and pain exploded. Blair jerked hard, but managed to keep from crying out. He just sucked in a huge gasp of air and said, "Twenty-nine." 

 

The last stroke sounded like a gun crack, and Blair knew that he was going to have bruises as well as welts. He didn't scream, but he almost came. It took him a moment to catch his breath, then he managed to push out, "Thirty." 

 

Clive laid the strap aside on the counter, and Blair felt him gently stroking his hair. "You took that beautifully, dear." He got a hand mirror and held it up in front of Blair, just over his shoulder, tilting it. "Have a look." Blair looked. "Your butt looks like two pink pepperment ball with those red stripes, precious. Absolutely delicious. Turn over." 

 

Blair turned over onto his back much more gingerly than he had turned over onto his tummy. When his sore bottom hit the padding he yelped quietly, and Clive rubbed his belly soothingly. "Well, you will be a smart ass, so your ass smarts." 

 

"Thank you, sir, and wouldn't a remark like that have earned me another five strokes?" 

 

Clive looked stern. "It still could." When Blair cringed, he smiled. "Joking, precious. The Discipline portion of our play is done. It's time for the Bondage. Sit up." When Blair did, he lowered the foot section and raised the back section till the chair was in proper sitting form again. He took a pair of shackles and, bending down, he fastened one cuff around Blair's left ankle and the other around the footrail. "This will leave you a little range of movement. Is it comfortable?" Blair tested it, moving his foot, then nodded. "Good." He did the same on the other side. 

 

"Now." He stood up. "Hold out your hands." Blair obeyed, and Clive gently laid his treasure across his palms. 

 

Blair looked down. It was a rope of some kind, a braided rope of redish-brown, a yard, or maybe another six inches long. Blair ran it through his fingers. It was incredibly soft and smooth. "Silk? Satin?" 

 

"Hair." 

 

Blink. "Hair?" 

 

"This is from a very dear friend of mine. Her name is Scribe." 

 

"How many haircuts did it take to get this?" 

 

"One." His eyes closed. "God, it was magnificent. Her hair just foamed and flew. It was halfway down her back when it was wet, but it was so curly that it only reached just past her shoulder blades when it was dry. And see..." He lifted the end of the rope and held it against Blair's hair. "Almost exactly the same shade. Very appropriate." 

 

"You... you're going to tie me up with that?" 

 

"Oh, yes." Clive peered down, smiling. "I see you like that idea. Normally I'd tie your hands to the bar at the top of the chair, behind you, but I want to be able to reach your hair properly, so, wrists together." Blair did as Clive directed. Clive quickly wrapped his wrists together, then tied each end to opposite chair arms. Blair's hands were bound together just over his bellybutton. 

 

He tried the bonds. "That's surprisingly strong." 

 

"I braided it very slowly and carefully." He sighed, looking dreamy. "I must have beaten off a dozen times before I finished it." 

 

"Did you... uh... with the hair?" 

 

Clive smiled seductively. "What do you THINK, precious? He leaned down, his face close to Blair's, and the smile was sly. "Comfy?" Blair nodded, owl-eyed. "Good. I believe I promised you a treat." 

 

Clive bent down quickly and took Blair's cock into his mouth and down his throat in one fell swoop. Blair yelped, and would have come up off the chair if he hadn't been shackled to it. Clive held him like that for a full minute of intense suction, then pulled off, leaving Blair gasping, his once again rigid prick swaying. Clive smacked his lips thoughtfully. "Oh, you do taste good! I may have to do that again before this scene is over." 

 

"Please." 

 

"We'll see." He caressed Blair's chest, tweaking a nipple. "It all depends on how good you are. Now, to that lovely hair." 

 

Clive turned the chair around and pushed Blair, backwards, to the sink. Then he did something with a lever so that the back lowered to an angle. As Blair lay back, his arms stretched almost to the point of discomfort, since his hands were still tied to the armrests, and they didn't move. 

 

Humming to himself, Clive eased a padded towel under Blair's neck ("Strictly for your comfort, precious. It won't make the least bit of difference if you get a little damp, will it?"), then lovingly draped his long fall of hair back into the sink. He started the water, testing it carefully to be sure that it was hot, but not scalding. "All right, sweetie. I usually favor unscented products, but since you're so special, I'll allow you to make a request. Is there any particular scent you favor?" 

 

"Jim likes the herbal stuff I usually use. He can't take anything too strong because of his heightened senses. Besides," Blair blushed. "he thinks my natural smell is sexy." 

 

Clive lifted a handful of curls to his face, sniffing appreciatively before rubbing them against his cheek. "He's so right. I have one with just the tiniest hint of rosemary. How would that be?" 

 

"Terrific." 

 

"Then relax, precious, and enjoy the ride." 

 

Clive wet his hair, squirted a clear, gleutenous liquid into his palm, and began to massage it into Blair's hair. In seconds he'd worked up a thick, mildly fragrant foam. Clive worked slowly, clearly enjoying himself. He massaged Blair's scalp firmly, never once raking with his nails like some hairdressers Blair had encountered. Then he ran his hands the length of the hair, gathering it into a thick hank and sliding it through his hands, stroking it. Blair cut a sideways look as Clive began to rinse him. There was a damn impressive bulge under the thin leather of his fly. 

 

A quick peek at his own crotch told him that he hadn't lost a milimeter of his own erection. "You know, I never really thought of my hair as an erogenous zone." 

 

"Well, you should, doll. Everyone should, but especially you, with that wonderful mane." 

 

"I don't know why I haven't. Jim certainly does. I have to make sure he doesn't zone on the scent, or watching the highlights in it if I stand under a strong light." 

 

"I'm liking Jim better every second." Clive massaged in a generous dollop of conditioner, working it through from roots to tips. "I can't wait to see what this looks like when we're finished. I mean, it was wonderful before, but freshly washed and conditioned..." 

 

"Jim's gonna fuck me through the mattress as soon as he gets me somewhere private." 

 

"Well, precious, if he's in a hurry and he really doesn't want an audience..." Clive sighed, "I don't lend my private station out, but I do have an office." 

 

When he was done with the washing and conditioning Clive spent long, happy moments combing out Blair's tresses. He got a pair of barber shears and meticulously trimmed about a half inch off the bottom. "Dead ends, precious. No good for anyone, except perhaps for stuffing a pin cushion if you're sentimental, or a pillow, if you're kinky, like me. Now, the tempting thing is to use the blow dryer on your hair, to get it done quickly, but I think that would take out some of that lovely curl, so we're going to dry it the natural way." 

 

"That'll take a while." 

 

"You aren't going anywhere, darling." Clive manipulated the chair again till Blair was once again lying stretched out on a platform. He picked up a small, sharp pair of scissors. "Now, to neaten you up a little." He snapped the blades together, arching an eyebrow. "Do you trust me?" 

 

Blair closed his eyes. "Yes, sir, but I don't think I can watch this." 

 

"Then keep your eyes closed, dear. You don't need much." 

 

Blair kept his eyes squinched tight shut. There were tiny snipping sounds from around his groin. He felt an occasional very gentle tug on his pubes, but not a single kiss of cold metal. He was surprised to find that, not only did his erection not droop, he got harder. There's just something about being completely under the control of a strong man. 

 

After a moment Blair felt something raking gently through his pubes, and peeked. "You're combing my crotch hair?" 

 

"I'm getting rid of the clippings." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Well, for one thing, you could get a bit itchy when you put your clothes back on if I don't. For another..." He hesitated. "Sweetums, have you ever made the mistake of eating an ice cream cone or a lollipop right after you've had a haircut and before you've re-washed your hair?" Blair thought, then made a face. "Exactly. Snippets everywhere. While I'm sure that your gorgeous lover accepts occasionally waking up with hair in his mouth as part of snuggling with you, I thought I'd spare him having to pause and spit if he decides to love you up a little before you shower." 

 

"You're a thoughtful soul." 

 

"Aren't I just?" Clive unshackled Blair, then untied the hair rope from the chair's arms, but left Blair's wrists bound. "Up you go." Blair stood and held out his wrists expectantly. "I should say not! We're a long way from done, pet." 

 

Clive went back to the cabinet. This time he returned with a small bottle of amber fluid. Uncapping it, he held it up so that Blair could sniff. This is marketted as a massage oil but, well..." he smiled. "I'm fairly sure the manufacturer doesn't mind the customers being creative." 

 

Blair sniffed. "Cinnamon? Clive, that isn't going to..." 

 

"Burn? No, dear. Gracious, I don't mind a bit of pain for stimulous, but I'm not going to stick my cock into anything that might raise blisters, you know. No, it warms a bit, but it's very gentle." He sat in the chair. "Present." 

 

Knowing exactly what he meant, Blair stood close in front of him, facing away. He spread his legs for balance, then bent at the waist. Clive patted the profferred rump, gently in deferrence to the tenderness. He coat the fingers of his right hand with oil, then used his left hand to spread Blair's buttocks. Blair shivered as Clive stroked the length of his crease. 

 

Clive found the crinkle of Blair's anus and rubbed his finger over it. "As pretty a one as I've ever seen." He massaged around it, feeling the taut muscle begin to relax. "Do you get much of this sort of action, angel? I don't want to go too fast for you." 

 

"Don't worry, sir." The oil had started to work, and Blair hummed happily as he felt gentle warmth sinking into his flesh. "I'm pretty much good as long as you aren't trying to hurt." 

 

"No, love. I'm very carful of my submissives when it comes to this. You can't SEE if you're doing damage, so you have to do things right." He pressed one fingertip at the center of Blair's sphincter. "I want you to push back onto me, Blair. That way you can control the first invasion. Take a little time if you need to, but do it." 

 

"Yes, sir." Blair pushed back, biting his lip as Clive's finger slowly penetrated. He didn't stop till the other man's knuckles were flush against his ass. 

 

"Oh, very good, pet! Do you need a moment?" 

 

"No, sir. Your fingers aren't as big as Jim's." 

 

"Is that so?" Clive began pumping his finger in and out of Blair's anus. "Then I'll have to try harder, won't I?" After a moment he pressed a secong finger in beside the first, spreading them as he stroked. "This won't take much longer, I believe. Just a moment." 

 

Blair made a tiny whine of protest (not daring to actually speak) when Clive removed his fingers. "You just be patient, you greedy thing. This is for your benefit." Blair soon saw what he meant. When his hands returned, Clive slid in THREE fingers, and a greased left hand reached around and began fondling Blair's increasingly needy erection. Blair crooned with happiness. "You're welcome." 

 

Clive's fingers passed over Blair's prostate, sending a burst of even more intense pleasure washing over him. He bucked into Clive's firm grip and received a warning squeeze. Clive's voice was sharp. "I know it feels good, but if you pull off, I shall be VERY annoyed." 

 

Blair tried to control himself. The second time Clive hit his prostate he managed to jerk just a little, but on the third and fourth pass his knees started trembling. "Sir, please. I don't want to pull off, but if my legs give out I won't have much choice." 

 

"All right." Clive removed his fingers. Blair drew in a breath and Clive snapped, "I have to get my pants open, and if you fuss I won't fuck you." Blair clammed up quickly. Clive began unbuttoning his pants. "If you act like this with Jim, I'm surprised you can ever sit down." 

 

Blair couldn't resist. He twisted, looking back. Clive was just slipping his erection through his open fly. "Wow! Maybe your fingers are smaller than Jim's, but..." 

 

"Eyes front!" Blair's head snapped around. "You'll be better able to judge size tactically, precious." Clive grabbed Blair's hip with one hand. "Straddle my legs and start to ease down." Blair did as directed. He paused when he felt the warm, slick nudge at his rectum. "Okay, sit down--slowly." 

 

Blair started to bend his knees. He felt himself spreading, then the heated flesh was slowly sliding up inside him, pressing the walls of his anal passage apart. "Oh, man." He continued down, down, feeling himself stretch to accomodate Clive. Finally he was sitting, his rump to Clive's groin. He panted, "I was right--you DO give Jim a run for his money." 

 

"We'll have to make a side-by-side comparison soon." Clive sat up a little, reaching around to embrace Blair. "My, you're nice and tight. Give us a little squeeze, darling." Blair concentrated and tightened his muscles around Clive. "L-o-v-e-l-y." Clive found Blair's nipples and pinched, eliciting a groan. "Move, dear." 

 

Blair moved, rising and falling on the impaling column of flesh. He leaned forward a little and found that the cock head rubbed across his prostate at that angle. His movements began to resemble bouncing. Clive grabbed his hips and held him down. "This is not a race, Blair!" 

 

"Sorry." 

 

"Don't apologize, just calm down a little. Fast and furious can be nice, but there's no need to hurry right now." He loosened his grip. "Okay, once more, but pretend we're in school zone, not on the Daytona Speedway." It wasn't all that easy, but Blair managed, rising and falling with almost voluptuous slowness. "Oh, good boy," Clive purred. "You get a lollipop before you go." 

 

"I'll settle for just the pop part." 

 

"All right." Clive tightened his grip. "Slowly, now." Clive stood up, staying anchored firmly in Blair's body, and turned the both of them around. "Bend over and we'll kick this into high gear." 

 

Blair bent, resting his elbows on the chair seat. "Hey, this is still warm from your butt." He rubbed his face on the leather upholstery. 

 

"Flatterer. Brace yourself." He started pumping. Blair whimpered. "Found the spot, did I?" The younger man nodded. "Good." He rammed hard, and Blair gasped, throwing his head back. clive let go of his hips with one hand to catch a handful of hair. "Oo, it's drying nicely!" He bent forward, rubbing his face in the fragrant strands. With a growl he began pounding even harder. 

 

Blair relished the strong thrusts, starting to push back to meet them. When Clive reached around and again started to masturbate him he gave him another internal squeeze in thanks, and heard a small chuckle. "You've just given me an idea. One of these days I'm going to have Trenton sit on me, then we'll see if he can just sort of jerk me off my squeezing. It should be fun to try. Are you close, pet?" 

 

As he spoke, he rubbed his palm over Blair's cockhead, smearing the pre-come that had leaked out over the sensitive flesh. "Shit, yeah!" 

 

"What an elegant turn of phrase." Clive jerked his hips hard, almost lifting Blair up on his toes. 

 

Blair yelped as Clive's cock stabbed at his prostate again, and he came, his sperm splattering on the chair. "Oh, shit, man, I'm sorry!" 

 

Clive continued fucking him, grunting, "Sandburg, do you think I'd have anything in here that could be come stained? I have better sense." He buried himself a final time in the bent over man's ass, and groaned in completion as his seed spilled. Blair bumped his ass back against Clive's crotch softly, encouraging him to empty himself entirely. 

 

Finally Clive pulled free. He turned Blair, sat in the chair, and once again pulled him down onto his lap. This time, though, he had the Guide sit across his thighs, rather than straddling, holding him like a department store Santa would hold a child. Blair snuggled, dropping his head on the Dom's shoulder. "That was n-i-c-e." 

 

"Mutual, dear, mutual." Clive stroked Blair's now dry hair, occasionally lifting a few strands to sniff them or rub them against his cheek. "Do you think you could talk your friend Jim into letting me, oh, I don't know... maybe give him a hot oil treatment?" 

 

Blair giggled. "Hot oil sounds good. Could I assist?" 

 

"I think that could be arranged." Clive yawned, closing his eyes. "Heavens, I'm not ususally this worn out after a scene." 

 

"Well, Jim did interrupt your nap, didn't he? Why don't you go ahead and doze? It may be awhile before he's back." 

 

"I may just do that little thing." He slipped lower, letting his cheek rest against the top of Blair's furry chest. "After all, I have a teddy bear to sleep with..." 

 

taptaptap 

 

Clive sat up abruptly, looking around wildly. His office. He looked down in his lap. Yes, that was indeed an erection, but judging from the dry feel of his pants, the dream had stopped before he reached the wet stage. Drat. "What the fuck is it?" 

 

There was silence for a moment, then a meek voice said, "Sorry, but, um, I sorta had an appointment for three o'clock, and it's three-fifteen now." 

 

Ah, Trenton's friend. Clive got up, moving toward the door. "You're late--not a good start." 

 

"Nosir, I wasn't late, but... well, you have this sign up, and I know how pissed most Doms get when they're disturbed, so I was kinda hesitant. I was gonna wait, but Trent said you probably wouldn't mind, so I just..." Clive opened the door, rather snappishly, and the young man standing outside trailed off. "Am I in trouble?" 

 

Clive stared at him. 

 

He wasn't Blair Sandburg, but he was DAMN close. Actually, he was Blair Sandburg with glasses, and without the slight red tint in his hair. Everything else was there: the fantastic body (complete with chest fur--he could see curls peeking from his open collar), dark blue eyes, and fuck-me mouth. "You're Trenton's 'net friend." 

 

The man nodded, holding out his hand. "Gregory Margolas. I'm auditioning for the part of Blair Sandburg... No, wait, they won't be using that name exactly for legal reasons. A Blair Sandburg type character in a movie based on The Sentinel tv show. Are you familiar with it?" 

 

"Yes, and don't you mean rather based on the slash fan fiction written about that show?" 

 

He blushed. "Um, yes. Anyway, they're down to two of us for the part, and I think I pretty much have it, but it would be a lock if I could just look a little more like their concept of the character, so I was wondering if..." 

 

"Say no more, dear." Clive walked around him, and gave the ponytail that was hanging halfway down his back a tug. "All you need is a little trim and a few highlights, with just a little henna. I can fix you right up." 

 

"Oh, man, could you? I'd be just incredibly grateful." He gave Clive a sly smile. "Really, really grateful. Getting this role is my dream." 

 

Clive gestured at the door to his station. "Well, precious, why don't we just step back into my parlor and we'll see if we can't make a few dreams come true?" 

 

The End


	4. Chapter 4: Oh, Canada! Oh, Baby!

Crossover: Due South

 

 

"Trenton, precious, it's bed time." 

 

"C'mon, Clive, just let me finish watching this program, okay? There's only a few minutes after this commercial." 

 

"Very well, but no more. If you start being tardy after the nights you sleep over I'll get in dutch with Lynette, and now that you're taking that early course at the community college on Tuesdays and Thursdays you need to get to bed a little earlier." 

 

"Yes, Daddy." 

 

"Oh, you're in that kind of mood, are you?" Clive bent over the back of the couch, kissed his young lover's neck, and earned a pleased squirm. Tousling Trenton's curls one more time, he went back into the bedroom and began to strip, humming to himself. He'd gotten down to his briefs when he heard dialogue from the living room. "Ah, geez, Benny! Tell me you didn't lick that!" 

 

"Oh, dear." 

 

Clive hurried back into the living room. "What was that? Who's licking what?" 

 

Trenton giggled. 'Yeah, that would get your attention." He pointed at the screen. "Benny's using his sense of taste as an investigating technique again. That always freaks Stanley, his partner, out." 

 

"His partner? What sort of partner?" 

 

"Not like us," Trenton sighed. "Well, not on the network show, anyway. The fan fiction is a different matter." 

 

Clive watched the screen, where a foot-chase was taking place. "Oh, my God! Look at that red tunic. He's a Mountie!" 

 

"Sure, this is Due South. Don't tell me you haven't run across Due South slash on the net?" 

 

"I've been pre-occupied with Sentinel slash. If I'd suspected for a moment that they had Mounties..." 

 

"You like that, hm?" 

 

"The uniform, darling. The boots." There was a good shot of Fraser, standing alone. "The body." Fraiser bent over to examine something on the ground, and Clive groaned, "The ass! This takes me back. I used to have such a crush on Dudley Doright." When Trenton stared at him he explained, "What can I say? I used to have a soft spot for dumb blondes." 

 

Clive sat beside Trenton to watch the rest of the show. When it was done he nodded. "They're doing each other." 

 

Trenton climbed on Clive's lap. "A lot of fans agree with you." He laid his head on Clive's shoulder. "Tell me a story, Daddy Clive." 

 

Clive reached into Trenton's lap, stroking his fly. "Once there was a naughty little submissive who was always trying to distract his patient, long suffering Dom." 

 

Trenton's eyes half-closed as Clive gently pinched the growing mound of his erection. "Wow. Bet you can't find anything like this in most fairy tale books." 

 

Clive was unzipping Trenton's fly. "Don't say fairy, lamb. I find it almost as offensive as faggot." 

 

Trenton squeaked as a large, hard hand closed around his naked prick. "Clive, I was kidding!" 

 

"So am I, silly." Clive nibbled at Trenton's throat, his hand moving quickly and firmly. 

 

In a few seconds Trenton was panting as his lover pumped his hard-on in the almost rough manner he loved so much. "Gah, what's the hurry?" 

 

"I think a second episode is about to come on and I want to watch it." 

 

"Clive!" Trenton sounded indignant. "You mean that just because you want to watch television you..." 

 

Clive shut Trenton up by dragging his head down and filling the boy's mouth with his tongue. He lightly raked his nails the length of Trenton's rigid shaft, then gently flicked the swollen cock head. Trenton bucked wildly as he came, his semen splattering his T-shirt almost up to where his hardened nipples thrust against the soft fabric. Clive swallowed the cries that he made, and kept him from falling off his lap. 

 

Clive released the boy's mouth with a final, deep lick. "Now, then, precious. You were complaining about something?" 

 

Trenton smiled, his expression dreamy. "No, sir." 

 

"That's what I thought." He pushed Trent off his lap. "Toddle off to bed, sweetie, and be sure to put those clothes in the hamper." 

 

"Like I'd forget after the last time." 

 

Clive made a kissing motion at him. "You know very well that you did that on purpose, lambie." Trenton grinned, and Clive swatted him lightly on the rump. "Bed." 

 

Clive settled in comfortably. The next program started. It was called 'Some Like It Red'. It involved the delicious Mountie in drag. Clive watched, head cocked. Well, that's interesting. I'm not usually interested in cross-dressers, but when there's something that yummy under the Donna Karin... However, after this I don't see how they can deny certain themes in this program. 

 

Clive slid down farther on the sofa. I'm going to have to get Trenton to write down his viewing schedule. I've been spending all my time watching sports, and while the wrestlers and boxers and the baseball players in those clinging uniforms are nice... He started to drift off. ...Mounties... 

 

 

Pomp 

 

Hmm, so that's the sound that you make when you fall from a height into deep snow. 

 

Clive sat up, shaking snow out of his hair, and looked around. Oh, my. And I thought that area around Draculea's castle was rural. Nothing but sky, and snow, and trees, and mountains, and more sky, and more snow, and... Well, yes, I could go on, but meanwhile I'm freezing my nuts off. He got to his feet, which immediately began to sting from cold. 

 

"Fuck." He looked up at the sky. "I don't mind nightmares so much--I get some very good play ideas from them--but this! Really, subconscious, the least you could have done was allow me something other than my undies." Clive was wearing nothing but his Fire Engine Red briefs and an increasingly extensive coating of goose flesh. 

 

He looked around. The snow all around was pristine and unbroken, and there wasn't a sign of civilization in sight. He sighed, watching as his breath frosted in front of his face. I suppose one direction is as good as another in this sort of situation. 

 

Clive started to break a path through the snow. He was on top of a low hill, and he started down, figuring there was no point in seeing what was on the other side till he knew what was on this side. Unfortunately he was barefoot, beginning to shiver badly, and snow is slippery. The feet went up, the butt went down. He skidded and slid and slipped and flipped and finally ended up at the bottom of the hill, a bit dazed, but not really hurt. 

 

For a moment he lay on his back, staring up at the sky, and thought Well, thank God none of my submissives were here to see that. I shudder to think of what I'd have to do to re-instill the proper respect. He thought about getting up. And while I'll grant that my skivvies weren't all that much protection, I now have snow in them. Not pleasant. This experience may cause me to rethink my views on ice-cube play. 

 

Clive curled into a ball, trying to conserve body heat. Screw this running around blindly shit. If this is a dream, then someone is going to come find me. I'll just wait here and preserve what dignity I can. Damn, usually I enjoy my dreams being tactile, but this really sucks. 

 

He wasn't sure how long he lay there--long enough to decide that he would never again tell an inexperienced subbie to imagine that it's a popsicle--that would be just too damn close to home. 

 

shush shush shush 

 

Either that's someone coming, or I'm thinking too loud. He thought about lifting his head, then decided against it. He wasn't sure he could do it without trembling, and he was going to show as little weakness as possible, dammit. 

 

Something warm and wet touched his cheek--a tongue. "Trenton?" he said hopefully. He opened his eyes. No, not Trenton. The eyes gazing into his own were blue and brown Yes, I'm seeing that correctly--one of each, and, while Trenton had begun needing to shave much more often during the last year, he was by no means that hairy. 

 

The wolf regarded Clive. Clive regarded the wolf. Most people upon finding themselves that close to a set of fangs would have begun screaming, begging, praying, or wetting themselves. Clive said, "I don't do interspecies, so if you don't have a keg of brandy or a set of sweats, quit breathing in my face." The wolf threw his head back and howled. "Stop it, you're making me lonesome. You sound just like Trenton during a particularly good session." 

 

Clive studied the beautifully marked, thick fur of the wolf, and his eyes narrowed. "Hang on a minute..." He lunged, catching the dog in a bear hug. "Fur!" The wolf, startled, started to yelp and twist. "Oh, calm down! I don't want to skin you, you silly beast." He dragged the struggling animal on top of himself. "My backside may freeze, but the other essential bits will be at least a little warmer." 

 

clump shush clump shush clump shush 

 

"Now what? If that's a polar bear, I have news for him--he's never had to deal with a very cold, pissed off Dom, and the one thing I don't have yet in my wardrobe is a fur coat." 

 

"Oh, dear." 

 

"Oh, dear? Deja vu!" Clive released the wolf, who scrambled away. This time the eyes Clive found himself looking into were both blue and set in a very handsome face that was surrounded by a furry hood. 

 

The man, dressed in a shaggy coat and snow shoes, squatted over him. "Sir! You are severely under dressed for this climate." 

 

"Fucking understatement of the century, pet," Clive said through chattering teeth. "You look awfully familiar." 

 

"I am a great believer in the niceties of formal introductions, but I think that the first order of business should be getting you to shelter. Can you walk?" 

 

"I don't know, precious. The last time I tried was a bit of a fiasco." 

 

"Allow me to help you." The big man tucked his hands under Clive's arms and helped him up. It might not have been entirely necessary, but Clive swayed against his big, solid body. His rescuer caught him in his arms. "Steady, there! It is not far to the cabin, but do you need me to carry you?" 

 

Clive leaned a little more, looking up at him. "Would you?" 

 

He smiled charmingly. "Of course." The Mountie bent and got a shoulder against Clive's waist, then hoisted him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's legs. All that fur against bare skin? Clive couldn't help it--he squirmed. "Please, sir, I do not want to drop you." 

 

"Sorry, dear." They set off, and Clive was astonished at the speed the big man could make through deep snow with what amounted to tennis rackets on his feet. The wolf bounded along beside them. "Can I assume that the animal who gave me the face washing belongs to you?" 

 

 

"No, I do not own him. Diefenbaker is my companion." 

 

"A companion animal? Tell me, you don't belong to PETA, do you?" He rubbed sensuously against the fur jacket, then looked down the long stretch of Mountie behind him (manfully tearing his gaze away from the magnificent flex of his ass) and regarded the high, glossy, undeniably hot leather boots. "No, I guess you aren't. That's good. I was hoping you weren't a vegetarian." 

 

"Beg pardon?" 

 

"Do you believe in eating meat?" 

 

"Oh, yes, of course." 

 

"G-o-o-d." 

 

He sounded concerned. "The cold seems to be affecting your sensibilities. Do not worry, we are almost to the cabin." 

 

"Lambie, I just noticed--you don't use contractions." 

 

"That is correct." 

 

"Hmmm." Clive ran his hands up and down the coat in back, relishing the rough texture of the fur. You just shivered, and I don't think it's from the cold. Oh, I think we're going to have fun. 

 

It was a bit of a surprise when they arrived at the cabin. Considering Clive's method of arrival, he didn't see it coming. The Mountie just paused, and there was a gush of blessed warmth, then they were inside a building and the door was being shut. When his carrier turned to shut the door, Clive got a look at the room. 

 

Room, singular. There are no doors leading anywhere. Gracious, we are cozy, aren't we? This is smaller than my bedroom at home. Good, fewer places for him to run if he's skittish. Oo, but we have a nice roaring fire going! Sex in front of a fireplace--tingle, tingle, tingle! 

 

There was a rough cot against one wall, by the fireplace, and Clive was deposited, with admirable gentleness, on this. The big man then lifted a quilt from the foot of the bed and swathed Clive in it. Clive immediately began to feel more human. "This is lovely. Now, if you just have a bit of brandy or some such about..." 

 

"I do, but you must have a hot beverage to put it in. The warming effects of alcohol are more psychological than anything else. Would you prefer coffee or tea?" 

 

"Coffee, I guess. I can consider it Irish coffee, then." He arched an eyebrow at the other man. "Would you happen to have any whipped cream?" 

 

The Mountie blinked. "Um, no. I am sorry." 

 

Clive shrugged. "Don't sweat it, pet. It's just that whipped cream is such a versitile thing." He smiled. "You can dollop it on so many interesting things. Now, aren't you simply sweltering in that outdoor gear?" 

 

"Now that you mentioned it, it will be much easier and more comfortable to care for you if I remove certain items." 

 

"Remove away," Clive murmured, settling back with hope and anticipation. the mittens went first, then the snowshoes, hung neatly on a rack beside the door. He shrugged off the coat, and Clive said softly, "Oh, you're wearing your tunic, you sweet thing, you." The other man looked down, clearly a little puzzled. "So I am. How odd. Usually when I am out here I favor sensible flannel shirts. I wonder why I am wearing my dress uniform?" 

 

"You are wearing that perfectly divine costume because sometimes wishes do come true." When that broad, fair brow once again began to wrinkle in concentration, Clive said, "By the way, I suppose we can do introductions now." He held out his hand. "I'm Clive." 

 

The Mountie came over and took his hand with a broad, innocently friendly, smile (which made him look utterly edible) and said, "I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Constable Benton Fraser." 

 

Clive's own smile was far from innocent. "I k-n-o-w." 

 

Fraser moved over to the wood burning stove, getting a pot holder off the cabinet, and picked up a speckled enamelware coffee pot. "I do not have brandy. Will whiskey serve?" 

 

"It will serve very well." There was a warm, damp rooting at Clive's crotch. Normally Clive would have had no problem with this, but since Benton was across the room that left only one possible culprit. Clive opened the quilt and gazed down sternly at the wolf who was snuffling at his comfort slit. "Back off. I told you I don't swing that way." 

 

The wolf pricked his ears at the steely tone. He pulled back a fraction, cocking his head to look up at the man with the interesting smell. Clive bared his teeth. The ears went back, and the wolf gave a placating whine, thinking, Shit, another alpha male! I wonder if he's going to challenge Big Guy for pack leader? Better stay on his good side--he may end up being the source of jelly donuts. He lay down, rolling over to show his throat and belly. 

 

"Oh, my!" Benton had been taking a nearly full fifth off a shelf, but he was watching Clive and the wolf with open-mouthed interest. "I have never seen Diefenbaker act like that with anyone else." 

 

"Yes, well," Clive reached down, grabbed Diefenbaker's neck ruff and shook it, letting the wolf know that his show of respect had been accepted, "wolves have a very sensible outlook when it comes to who's, er, top dog. Diefenbaker?" 

 

"Yes, he is named after..." 

 

"The thirteenth prime minister of Canada, yes, I know." 

 

"You do?" That almost flumoxed Fraser. He'd gotten so used to having to explain the wolf's name that he hardly knew what to say next. "You do not find it odd?" 

 

"Not really, but then my best friend named her cat Tietlebaum for no apparent reason. I must remember to tease her about that the next time I see her." Clive sat back, wrapping the quilt about him again, and said pointedly, "Drink?" Politeness was one thing, but if he was going to relate to Fraser he needed to get who was in charge squared away. 

 

"Of course. My apologies." He poured a generous tot of liquor into the coffee, then brought the mug to Clive. 

 

"Thank you." He was usually courteous to his submissives, at least at the beginning, till they came to understand that any rudeness and roughness was part of the play and not an indicator of disrespect. Clive sipped the drink, and it began to spread a very pleasant warmth through his belly. He was hoping, however, for something a bit farther south. Clive patted the thin mattress next to him. "Park it, pet, and let's have a natter." 

 

"Certainly." Benton Fraser sat beside him, close enough to put another mark in the approachable column of the Will He Or Won't He? questionair. "I must admit that I am very curious as to how you came to be out in the middle of the Northwestern Territories dressed in nothing but a pair of rather skimpy underwear." 

 

"These are not skimpy, darling. You should see Trenton's thong." 

 

"Really? Who is Trenton?" 

 

Clive smiled. "My lover." 

 

"Oh." 

 

"You can certainly pack a lot into one little syllable, darling. You don't sound particularly shocked." 

 

"Oh, no, no. I am a bit surprised, though. Though your speech patterns are a touch flamboyant, you strike me as a particularly masculine man." wuff "Even Dief agrees." 

 

"How very perceptive you both are. I'm butch only to a degree. If I weren't a bit camp I wouldn't have or be nearly as much fun. If memory serves me correctly, shouldn't you have a cute blonde partner stashed somewhere around here?" 

 

"Stanley. He is back in Chicago. I could not persuade him to accompany me. He insists on spending his vacation time at some place called 'Club Med'." 

 

"Club Med has a lot to offer, but being isolated in a snow bound cabin can be nice, too--if you're with the right person." Clive scooted a bit closer. 

 

"That is my view exactly." Fraser sighed, gazing off with a dreamy expression. "I would enjoy some time alone with Stanley." 

 

"He's pretty special, hm?" A nod. "What does he look like?" One way to heat up a susceptible man--get him thinking about other hot men. 

 

"Well, as you somehow deduced, his hair is blonde." Benton smiled. "He wears it... Um, rather all over his head. It looks very, very soft." 

 

"I'd really like to meet him. You say it looks soft--you haven't touched and found out?" 

 

Fraser looked startled at the very idea. "Goodness, no! I could hardly perform such a familiar act without permission." 

 

"Oh, I bet he's just waiting for you to make a move like that!" 

 

"Do you really think so?" Fraser was shyly smoothing the material of his jodhpurs over muscular thighs. 

 

"Honey, from what I've observed, if you gave him the least hint that you were interested that way he'd be all over you." 

 

Fraser cut his eyes at Clive. "It does not shock you that I am interested in another man?" 

 

Clive patted Benny's hand (which just happened to still be lying on the Mountie's thigh--so easy for someone to slip) and drawled, "Precious, the last time I was shocked it involved nipple clamps and a malfunctioning battery, but let's not go into that right now. What color are his eyes?" 

 

"Very blue." 

 

"And what about his ass?" Fraser blushed--not quite as bright a red as his tunic, but very respectable, nevertheless. "You have noticed his ass, haven't you?" 

 

"While Stanley is not very big, and is rather wiry, he is quite muscular. His glutes are well developed...," Benton's eyes went soft, "but his posterior still looks incredibly round and soft." He blinked, clearing his throat. "From what I can tell." 

 

"Mhm. Fraser, you need to find out from first hand observation." 

 

"Oh, I could not ask! Besides, while I am not entirely inexperienced when it comes to," his voice became faint, "homosexual practices..." his voice strengthened, "I have never attempted..." his voice faded again, "anal intercourse..." it rose again, "in any manner." 

 

"Gracious, you fade in and out like a weak radio station when you drive through the mountains. You really need to build up your confidence before you attempt anything with Stanley, Fraser." 

 

"I suppose so." He sounded dejected. "It is just, how can I try to make love to him when I have no idea of whether or not I'll be able to please him?" 

 

BINGO! "Well, you need to practise, lamb." 

 

"I thought that perhaps I could do some research. There are certain books and magazines..." he blushed again, "I happened to peek into the back room at the newsstand when I was picking up my copy of Canadian Living. There were two--Xtra, which is a Toronto based gay magazine, and Clue Magazine, which targets West Canada's gay and lesbian readers. But perhaps an earthier publication such as Blue Boy would..." 

 

"How long did this peek last?" 

 

"Um... about two hours. I had to leave because the proprietor was closing up." 

 

"Yes, research like that can be very entertaining, especially if you have a quiet room and a bottle of hand lotion, but I doubt that you'd get much practical information. No, Fraser, in such a case," he lowered his voice, "hands on instruction is the best method." 

 

"I do not believe I have ever run across such a course at the community college." 

 

Clive sighed, rolling his eyes, Cute, and clueless. "I'm offering my services as a private tutor." 

 

Benton gasped. "Clive! You... you..." 

 

"Don't be hasty, Benton." 

 

"...your generosity overwhelms me! Thank you kindly. You do understand, though, that I wish to be the... the..." 

 

"You pitch, I'll catch, but don't you dare breathe a word of it to Trenton. He doesn't know yet that I occasionally switch. He might want to try to top and neither one of us is ready for that yet." 

 

"But are you sure that you wish to have congress with me?" 

 

"Sweetie, I wouldn't have most of Congress if you presented them already naked, bound, shaved, and oiled up, but I'm positive I want to do it with you. Can we agree that I'm thoroughly warmed up by now?" 

 

"Your color is very good, and that hand feels quite warm. I would say so." 

 

Clive let the quilt drop from his shoulders, took Fraser's hands, and guided them to his hard nipples. "That isn't from the cold, Fraser. I'm warm in more ways than one." 

 

"Oh, dear." Benton pinched. Clive groaned happily. "I'm sorry--was I too rough?" 

 

"Not at all, pet. You did that very nicely, and I wouldn't minds some more, and..." blink blink "You just used a contraction." 

 

"Arousal seems to have that effect on me." 

 

"Well, hell, let's try for split infinitives." Clive ran one finger down Fraser's chest, flicking at the tunic's brass buttons, and stopped against his Sam Browne belt. "While I absolutely love this, I've had enough cold things close to my skin." He started unbuckling the belt. "I'll just help you with this." He got the belt undone and slid it from around Fraser's waist, then examined it. "Excellent grade of leather. Trenton would love it." 

 

"They come in both larger and smaller sizes." 

 

smirk "He wouldn't be wearing it." pause "Well, maybe he would. I have a nice harness this would go well with." Clive unbuttoned the tunic, and opened it. "Do you know, pet? You can even make thermal underwear look sexy." 

 

"Thank you kindly." 

 

"Skin would be better, though. Off." In a few moments the boots, the jodhpurs, and the underwear were gone. Clive ran an appreciative hand over Benton's broad, solid chest. "N-i-c-e." He tweaked one already firming nipple, bringing it quickly to attention. "And pink--one of my favorite colors." He leaned away and gave Fraser a thorough, comprehensive look. "You, precious, are the Great White North... except when you blush like that. You and Trenton have a lot in common about that. We've fucked like bunnies for over a year now, and I can still make him blush. Now, put the boots back on." 

 

"I beg your pardon?" 

 

"You heard me, you beautiful hunk of Canadian bacon. If I let you mount up, you are damn sure going to be wearing those fuck me boots." Fraser tugged the boots back on. Clive studied the effect. "And the belt." 

 

"I thought you didn't want anything cold next to your skin?" 

 

"You don't think I'm going to let you just lie on top of me, do you?" Fraser buckled on the belt. "Okay, loosen it one more notch and let it ride low on your hips." Fraser did. Clive fanned himself. "I think we just reached critical mass." 

 

Clive gave Benton another laser-eyed exam. He started at the thick, sleek brush of sable brown hair, over the almost ridiculously handsome face, down the strong column of his neck and to the expanse of a smooth, pale, magnificently buff torso (complete with nipples like gum drops), over the thick, dark band of the belt, and under the belt... 

 

Careful, Clive. Try not to salivate down your chin--it's so gauche. Will you just look at that cock? Well, of course you will. Now I'm babbling to myself. It's been awhile--that may hurt... I hope, I hope, I hope. 

 

Clive tore his gaze away from the beautiful, long cock that was thickening and rising under his scrutiny, to finish his perusal. Down strong, muscular, slightly spread legs, with a fine dusting of hair, to the glorious, gay shoe fetishist's dream boots. He resisted the urge to ask Fraser to turn around so he could have a look at his ass because he'd already promised to let the dear boy top, and he knew his resolve would probably weaken if he got a glimpse of what would probably look like two perfect, delicious scoops of vanilla ice cream. 

 

Fraser shuffled. "I... do look all right, don't I?" 

 

"If I was inclined to keep a long term submissive other than my darling Trenton I would soon be locking you into the prettiest set of manacles I own." 

 

Fraser ducked his head shyly. "But Clive, I thought that you were going to act as the submissive this time." 

 

Clive arched one eyebrow. "While I may elect to be penetrated on occasion rather than do the penetrating, I am never fully submissive, Fraser." 

 

"But how...?" 

 

"You'll find out." He slid off his briefs. He had been thoroughly enjoying the show, and was now so hard that his cock almost slapped against his belly when he freed it. 

 

Fraser goggled. "Clive, for a man who is not physically all that massive, you are..." 

 

"Thank you, pet." 

 

"Do you suppose Stanley...?" 

 

"I have no way of knowing, but you might as well be optimistic." He lay back on the cot, wiggling voluptuously. "We'll need some sort of lubrication." 

 

"Oh, yes. Um... I have some mineral oil that I use to shine my boots. Will that do?" 

 

"Should be just spiffy. Bring it on." Fraser took a small bottle from the shelf over the bed and handed it to Clive, who opened it. "I'll start the ball rolling, then you'll take over after you see how it is done. Hold out your hand." 

 

Clive slathered Benton's fingers on his right hand with oil, then coated his own. He rolled onto his side, cocking one leg. "Can you see, precious?" 

 

Fraser's voice was thick as he sat on the edge of the cot, "Yes." 

 

"Good. Watch carefully. Now, I'm sure a smart boy like you knows your anatomy." He touched himself. "What's this?" 

 

"That's your anus." 

 

"Colloquially known as the asshole, or as I sometimes term it, the Gates to Paradise. Watch carefully. A considerate lover will make sure that his partner is fully relaxed and sufficiently open before he attempts penetration. A little pain now and then is relished by all kinky men, but agony is not. You want to try to avoid tearing, also. Massage firmly around the entrance, thusly. You'll be able to feel when the sphincter begins to relax. Next the considerate lover will slowly and gently introduce one finger into the back passage. However, since I occasionally like a little S and M with my B and D, and I'm impatient..." 

 

Fraser gasped, blood surging into his cock as Clive thrust one finger roughly into himself, not stopping till his hand was flush against his backside. Clive groaned. "Damn, it's been a long time, but it's just as good as I remembered it. Hurts so good." He began to pump his hand strongly. 

 

Benton watched the finger, shiny with oil, sliding in and out of the clinging little pucker, and imagined replacing it with his prick. His cock was so hard by now that it was just this side of painful, and the cockhead was drooling a steady stream of clear pre-ejaculate. Fraser was familiar with this from his masturbation sessions (there had been a lot of them--there wasn't all that much to do in the evenings up here). He started to stroke himself, and Clive said sharply, "Fraser, if you come anywhere but inside me, I swear I will take that belt off you and then lay it back on you in a manner that will leave you as striped as a candy cane!" 

 

Fraser stopped quickly. "I'm beginning to see how this 'topping from the bottom' might be accomplished." 

 

"You need something to distract you." Clive pulled his finger out. "Wait, let me see your nails." Fraser obliged. "Lovely. I bet you manicure on a regular basis." 

 

"Good grooming is important." 

 

"I couldn't agree more. Put two close together and do what I did." 

 

Benton gripped Clive's hip with his left hand, and pressed the tips of two fingers to his rectum. "I think I ought to be a bit more cautious, at least till I get the feel for this." 

 

"Immanently sensible. Now quit talking and finger fuck me." 

 

"Yes, sir." Benton pressed, and felt his fingers sliding into incredibly hot, tight moistness. He once again thought of his cock in the same situation. "Clive, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to do this." 

 

"I won't need three, so just keep stroking a few moments more. And while you're at it, are you familiar with a little thing called the prostate?" 

 

"I am, of course, aware of it's existence." 

 

"Well, go exploring, pet. Not everyone can hit it when they fuck, so since you have those long fingers I want a nice internal massage before you get in the saddle." 

 

"Understood." Fraser had been working his fingers in and out of Clive's body while he spoke--now he pushed deep and began to feel around. Clive squirmed happily. Even without touching the magic spot it felt damn good. "I think it should be right about..." Clive suddenly jerked, gasping, "here." 

 

"Try exactly there! To quote those almost unbearably perky cheerleaders, Do it again! Do it again! Harder, Harder!" Fraser rubber firmly, and Clive quickly gripped the base of his own cock, squeezing almost viciously. "Damn, I wish they had pockets on briefs--I could have brought along a cockring. Pull out, Fraser." When Fraser continued to massage, Clive fought down the almost overwhelming waved of pleasure, reached up, and grabbed Benton's hair, jerking. "Stop, dammit! I'm not going to come unless you're inside me, understand?" 

 

Fraser's voice was pained. "Yes, now please unhand my hair." 

 

Clive shook him. "Are we clear on this, precious? You do what I tell you, when I tell you." 

 

"Yes, sir. Please?" 

 

Clive released his grip, smoothing Fraser's hair. "Just keep being a good boy and we will both have a good time, Fraser." He turned onto his back, spreading his legs. "Get into position." 

 

"Please believe that I'm not questioning your instructions," Benton said carefully, "but is there a particular reason why you don't want to be fucked on your hands and knees?" 

 

"There are several. Face to face I can watch your expression as you get your first real piece of ass, the penetration will be deeper, you're less likely to slip out on the back stroke with my legs hooked over your shoulders, and you're also less likely to get the delusion that you have total control of the situation. Satisfied?" 

 

"Not yet, but I hope to be--soon." Fraser knelt between Clive's spread knees. 

 

"Grab my hips or my butt and lift." Fraser slid his hands under Clive's ass and did as instructed. Clive rolled back a little on his spine, lifting his legs to drape over Fraser's shoulders. 

 

Fraser looked down between them. He let go with one hand to reach down, and Clive hooked with his legs, hanging on. When Fraser pushed down on his prick it was aiming directly at Clive's slightly spread, glistening hole. He sounded surprised. "Why, the aim is almost perfect!" He touched himself to the opening, his cockhead penetrating no more than a fourth of an inch. 

 

"So much for the argument that it's awkward. Slam it home, Fraser." 

 

"But Clive, I'm rather large. I really don't want to hurt you." 

 

"Look, when you make it with Stanley you can be just as gentle and slow and tender as you like, but dammit, if I'm going to let someone fuck me, I want to get fucked!" He grabbed Fraser's belt and jerked, hard. 

 

Fraser slid in with one smooth motion, not stopping till their pubic hair mingled and he bumped to a stop. Clive stiffened, making a deep groan. "Oh, dear! It did hurt!" 

 

"It burned a bit, precious, but you also hit the magic spot on the way in. Oooh, baby! I haven't been this full since Trenton's mom, Lynette, had me over for Thanksgiving dinner. When I left I was more stuffed than the turkey had been. Ooo..." He let go of Fraser's belt, throwing his arms over his head in sybaritic bliss. "You've been such a good boy that I'm going to give you a treat. After I do, I want you to go ahead and fuck me--hard." 

 

"What is it?" 

 

"This." 

 

Fraser moaned as Clive flexed internally, the muscles of his back passage rippling around and along the Mountie's buried prick. It felt as if he was being sucked. After that he wouldn't have been able to disobey Clive if he'd wanted to. He started bucking against the smaller man, shoving in and out fast and hard. 

 

The angle was exactly right--Fraser hit Clive's prostate at almost every pass. Clive didn't really yelp during sex, but he started a deep, feral growl that made Diefenbaker whine and run anxiously back and forth. He was getting hard, too, and he knew for DAMN sure that no one was going to give him any. He finally settled in a far corner and practiced the ancient canine art so admired and envied by most human males--he gave himself oral sex. 

 

Clive was thoroughly enjoying Fraser's vigorous thrusts The only thing as good as fucking a beautiful submissive is being fucked by a beautiful submissive. And to think there are people who believe you can't take it up the ass and still be a Dominant. Foolish mortals. 

 

Clive braced his hands flat against the mattress and managed to shove up to meet Fraser. The Mountie whimpered with pleased astonishment as he managed to drive even deeper. 

 

"Fraser," Clive panted, "I'm close. Grab my dick." Without missing a beat the Mountie wrapped a big hand around Clive's erection and began to masturbate him. He had a sense of what Clive liked now, and didn't have to be ordered to make his motions strong, and a little rough. Clive purred. If Diefenbaker hadn't been so pre-occupied with licking his own balls he would have looked for the cat. 

 

"Now," said Clive, "Hold still!" 

 

Fraser froze, though he thought that he very well might explode. Clive kept himself in shape, and he was remarkably supple. He hardly had to strain at all to reach Fraser's balls. He squeezed. Benton bellowed and came. 

 

Clive felt the scalding pulse of Fraser's come jetting into his very core. That was all it took, and he came, too, bathing the Mountie's still moving hand (yes, Fraser had had enough sense to keep on doing that). 

 

When Fraser caught his breath he said, "Do you know, I used to think that I'd had sex before." 

 

Clive laughed, and unhooked his legs from Fraser's shoulders. "I suppose you did, dear, but when all you've had is vanilla, cinnamon swirl with hot fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles comes as a bit of a shock." 

 

Fraser grinned. "What--no cherry?" 

 

Clive laughed till he was weak. "Not... not for some time, I'm afraid." 

 

The cot was narrow, but Clive solved that problem by spreading himself over a sated Fraser, like a blanket. He yawned. "Tell you what, sweetcheeks. We'll catch a nap, then you can put your red tunic back on, and we can play Dirty Santa Claus." 

 

"That sounds interesting. However I will feel a bit hypocritical judging anyone," Fraser's voice seemed to be coming from a distance, as Clive's eyes closed, "since I have just gotten through being so splendidly naughty myself." 

 

 

Clive woke up to snow, but it was not the wet, cold kind. He blinked at the buzzing television. Well, fuck. The cable's gone out again. If that isn't back on by tomorrow morning I'm going to grab the first repairman I can get my hands on and show him what other uses that cable can be put to. 

 

He checked the clock. It had been less than an hour. He calculated how much time Trenton would have to sleep if he was awake for, say, another hour, and decided that the boy could sleep a half hour late, and he'd drive him to school instead of letting him take the bus. 

 

Trenton woke up when Clive shook him gently. "Huh?" He rubbed his eyes. "Mornin' already?" 

 

"No, pet--playtime, then sleeptime, then morning." 

 

Trenton sat up, and found a large pair of striped pajamas laying in his lap. He fingered them. "Since when do either of us wear pajamas?" 

 

"Costumes, darling. That should float on you." 

 

Trenton grinned as he started to slip on the top. "Daddy?" 

 

Clive was wearing a brilliantly scarlet jacket over his briefs. He grinned. "Santa. You will sit on my lap, and we will discuss naughty boys who get switches, and good boys who get candy canes." His eyebrows lifted at Trenton's delighted laugh. "Ho, ho, ho, precious."


	5. Chapter 5: Did You Say Greek?

Crossover: Xena

 

 

"Somehow I never thought that a man who wore a spaghetti strainer as a hat would turn me on." 

 

Trenton, carrying his empty soda can to the kitchen, paused to lean over the back of the sofa. Clive, dressed only in his boxers, was sprawled out comfortably, legs up, head propped on the padded arm. He was reading a magazine called Cult Television. The cover featured a quartet of men dressed in assorted leathers and metal, and the title read THE MEN OF THE XENAVERSE. Clive had the magazine open to a full-page colorful photograph of a man with chocolate brown eyes, who was dressed in something that vaguely resembled armor. 

 

Trenton grinned. "Joxer, the Mighty, and it's a helmet." 

 

Clive swatted him with the magazine. "I know that, you boob." He quickly flipped through the pages. "Drat, that's the only picture they have of him. Not that the others aren't yummy. Love the wings on Cupid--so many possibilities with feathers." 

 

Trenton was nodding. "Hercules, Iolaus, Joxer, Cupid, Strife, Ares... Ares. Yumyumyum." 

 

"Yes, pet, very nice. And I have the feeling that Strife knows his way around a set of manacles, also. But Joxer..." He sighed. "Oh, those puppy dog eyes. And he may not be as buff as some of the others, but there's a nice body under that hideous clap-trap." 

 

"You're telling me? You haven't seen Skinner, have you?" 

 

Clive frowned. "He's a bit too top for my personal tastes, love. He's perfect daddy material, though. I bet he's spanked Fox Mulder more than a time or two when he goes flying off into the face of danger without..." 

 

"Not AD Walter Skinner, Clive--Dennis Skinner, nice guy and serial killer." 

 

Clive sat up. "Excuse me?" 

 

"It's true. You'd have to see the movie to understand. Skinner is a movie starring Ted Raimi--the guy who plays Joxer, the Mighty. He's Dennis Skinner, a serial killer that, well, skins his victims and wears their faces skin suits." 

 

Clive stared at him. "Ick, darling." 

 

Trenton nodded. "But good/bad cheesy fun. And when he isn't murdering people he's a nice, sweet, considerate boy who just wants to be loved." Trenton hunkered down conspiratorially. "There's a scene in the movie. He fixates on his landlady, right? One night he stands naked outside her bedroom door as she sleeps. He presses against the door with the most erotic, longing look on his face, rubbing against the cold surface." 

 

Clive considered this. "Naked, you say?" 

 

Trenton nodded. "As a jaybird. No full frontal, but a full back view." 

 

"I can live with that. Why haven't you shown me this, Trenton?" 

 

"They have a copy in the used bin at Video Cube for about five bucks, if you don't think it's too expensive." 

 

"Dearest, a few seconds view of his ass would be worth five dollars. Be a lamb and pick it up for me, would you?" 

 

"Will do. You need to come with me to the next multi-fandom convention." He started for the kitchen again, then stopped. "Or maybe not. Knowing you when the guest celebrities opened the floor for questions, you'd ask about their sex lives." 

 

"Well, let's face it--that's what most fans are thinking, anyway." Clive studied the photo again, tracing a finger down the line of the smiling man's body. "You know what I find interesting about this character? In the on-line fan fiction, he's written as both a top and a bottom." 

 

Trenton threw away his can and came back. "Let me guess which you prefer." Clive swatted at him again with the magazine, but Trenton was a quick boy (all that cutting through water with his swimming, Clive supposed), and he twisted around so that the magazine landed on his rump. 

 

He wiggled his ass temptingly, and Clive laughed. "You're so shameless. Later, pet. I've finally gotten the books unballed," (he'd stayed late the last three nights trying to correct one day's worth of Bettina's bookkeeping) "and I'm ragged out. I want a nap." 

 

Trenton shook his head. "It's after eight. Are you going to wake up just to go back to bed?" 

 

Clive reached up quickly, snagging Trenton's shirt before he could pull back, and dragging him down until they were nose-to-nose. "Trenton, my treasure, wouldn't you like to have a fresh, well-rested Dom instead of a yawning, half-asleep one?" 

 

Trenton kissed the tip of his nose. "As long as I have him," Then he kissed him on the lips, giving a quick swipe of tongue, "and he has me." 

 

Clive pushed him away. "Go. Do something teenagerish while I recharge my batteries." 

 

Trenton wandered to the computer. "I'll see if Bryant's online. If he isn't, I'll cruise fanfiction.net and look for ideas for new scenes." 

 

Clive sighed, spreading the magazine over his face. The boy will kill me yet. He smiled. But I will die a happy man. After a moment he lifted the magazine and once again studied the picture of Joxer, the Mighty. Then, with a sly smirk, he spread the magazine over his crotch and went to sleep. 

 

 

 

Clank 

 

What the hell? 

 

Clang 

 

Clive tried to pull his pillow over his head to shut out the noise. It didn't work, because there didn't seem to BE a pillow. That was unusual. Trenton was a cover hog, but he usually left the pillow alone. Well, unless he needed it to tuck under his ass to raise his hips so they could... 

 

Clive was startled out of this pleasant contemplation by rattleclatterbang He sat up. "Good God, darling! Are you cooking at this time of night? Leave the pots and pans and come to bed." Right about the time that Clive realized that he was lying on the floor behind some sort of big ass square rock, a head popped up over the edge. Large, chocolate brown eyes regarded him in surprise. "Oh." Clive smiled. "Well, hello, precious." 

 

The man, who had a long, quirkily handsome face, regarded him curiously. "I don't want to question your sanity, but isn't it a little daring to be hiding behind the altar in one of Ares's temples?" He cocked his head. "Especially wearing as little as that." 

 

Clive raised an eyebrow at him. "There's a dress code?" 

 

"Um... Well, armor is usually appropriate. It's just that usually people don't do around wearing that little clothes, unless they're one of the gods." He paused. "Maybe you're a god I just haven't heard of yet?" 

 

Clive smiled. "No, lamb, though I have given some people what they refer to as religious experiences." 

 

"Would you like me to see if I can find you some more clothes?" 

 

Clive planted a hand on his hip and arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you don't like the view?" Oh, my! What a delicious shade of pink he turns! 

 

"Oh, um... It's not that. It's just that the high priests of any temple tend to be kind of suspicious of half-naked worshippers." He paused and thought. "Except for Aphrodite or Cupid. Maybe Strife. He kinda likes to snatch people's clothes and drop them off in public places. I speak from experience." 

 

"Either a Dom or a frustrated sub. Tell you what, doll, step back and give me a couple of seconds of privacy." 

 

"Okay." He moved back out of sight. 

 

Clive stared down at his boxers (which had begun to tent at the crotch) Stop that! In a minute or two, but first we have to get close enough to grab, and if you wave like that you might scare him off. Let's see... Time to go to lucid dreaming mode. He squinted his eyes fiercely. Leather. now! The boxers changed to black leather, and Clive tried to stifle a laugh. No, I'm not running around in Germany, so I don't want lederhosen. Longer. The shorts stretched to pants length. Better. Now, tighter. In a moment he looked like he'd been shrink-wrapped in the finest black leather from the waist down. Perfect. God, I love dreams. If only it was this easy to get a good fit in Real Life. 

 

Joxer was wondering if maybe the nearly nude man he'd found behind Ares's altar might be a demi-god. After all, the gods (especially Zeus) were liberal about sowing their wild oats among mortals. He certainly looks like a demi-god. Maybe one of Apollo's... The man stood up and came from behind the altar. He was wearing body-hugging black leather. Joxer blinked. Whoa. Or maybe Ares. 

 

"Now, then. Where did you say I was?" 

 

"The temple of Ares, at Athens, to be exact. You know, this isn't a good place to be if you don't know where you are, if you know what I mean, and am I babbling?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Good. That's pretty much my normal state." 

 

"You're cute. My name is Clive." 

 

"Just Clive?" 

 

"That's all I've ever needed." 

 

"Granted I haven't heard of many Clive's, but you need a title, too. Take me..." 

 

"Love to." Clive grabbed, and laid a deep kiss on the startled Joxer. 

 

Joxer went limp with astonishment. Damn! I'm being kissed by a guy, and I like it! Clive's tongue did something very interesting with Joxer's. Screw like. 

 

He was panting when the blonde man set him back a pace and said, "Now then, precious, you were saying?" 

 

"I was?" 

 

Clive smirked. Very satisfactory reaction. "About titles?" 

 

"Oh. Yeah. Right, titles. Well, like I'm Joxer, the Mighty..." He paused and threw out his chest manfully. Clive, always willing to play along with a new submissive (especially if he had plans for them), clasped his hands and batted his eyelashes adoringly. "Um... then there's Xena, Warrior Princess." 

 

Clive nodded. "Leather Babe." 

 

"Iolaus, the Golden Hunter." 

 

"Ooo, yessss. Short, but sassy." 

 

"Gabrielle, the Amazon Bard." 

 

"Blonde Bitch." 

 

Joxer gasped and protested, "That's not very nice!" 

 

Clive noticed a spark of glee in his eyes. "But accurate. All right, if I need a title, I'll use the one my friend Scribe gave me." He gave a deep bow. "I am Clive, the Leather Hairdresser." 

 

Joxer smiled. "I don't know what that means, but it sounds good." 

 

"Oh, I am good, sweetheart. In fact, I'm excellent. Come here and I'll show you." 

 

Joxer backed away. "I don't think that would be... be appropriate here." 

 

Clive stalked him. "Oh, why not? It isn't as if Ares doesn't fantasize about shagging you rotten." Joxer looked confused. "Get it on. Do the wild thing. Make the beast with two backs..." He paused. "You know, I'm not really sure if that's a proper term for what he and I have in mind for you, though we could use that position." Joxer squeaked, turned, and ran. Clive went after him cheerfully. "God, I just love a good chase!" He tackled the other man, bringing him down in a crash of 'armor'. "Ouch. But it's going to be worth it." Pieces of metal started flying. 

Crash 

 

"Now look, Clive, this is too fast!" 

 

clang 

 

"I mean it! We just met. I don't even know you're birth sign." 

 

"Now that's a bit hard to say, lamb." clatter "You see, I was born at precisely midnight, April 19th, so depending on how you look at it, I'm an Aries..." bang "a strong initiator who likes to complete a project rapidly and keep on traveling, always wanting to be number one. Have a courageous spirit, which encourages confidence in others, romantic and prefers the chase to the long haul relationship. Or, I'm a Taurus..." spangrinnnnnnnnnng "taking special pleasure in luxurious items and places, sensual and particularly loving to touch and taste. Speaking of which, we finally seem to have found flesh, goody, goody." slurp Joxer whimpered. "Slow, careful and deliberate, I prefer long-term relationships. I am especially sensitive to financial security and will work toward my goals, and my goal right now is to get you..." rip "Success!" yelp! "I'm sorry, pet! Did I pinch or scrape?" 

 

"No--this floor is cold!" 

 

"Aw." petpetpet coo "Tha-at's right. Now, let's see about getting you somewhere more comfortable... Ah-hah" Clive got up and ripped some black velvet drapes off the wall. Joxer started hyperventilating. "Did you say something, dear?" 

 

Joxer, a little bug-eyed, said, "You just tore down Ares's draperies." 

 

"Yes, and he needs to have a serious talk with his temple slaves. They're a bit dusty." Clive flicked them briskly. Joxer sneezed. "Bless you." He spread the material over the altar, then patted it. "Hop up." 

 

Joxer gaped. "Are you kidding? Me, sit on Ares's altar?" 

 

"Lie, actually." 

 

"I've kinda gotten used to breathing. I'd rather not give it up right now." 

 

"Just look at these lovely braided silk ropes they were using to hang the drapes. I'm just so happy, because really, pet, your skin looks a little delicate, and I don't want it to scratch too badly when I..." His voice trailed off. 

 

Joxer waited a moment for him to continue, but he didn't, simply walking closer. "When you do what?" 

 

"Glad you asked. This" Clive pounced. 

 

thrash wrestle 

 

"Oof!" 

 

"Oopsie! Well, quit trying to escape and I'll take my knee out of your back." 

 

grab toss scramble 

 

"You're not going anywhere, sweet cheeks." nab wrap tie 

 

"Mhi aant reath." 

 

"Turn your head to the side, precious." 

 

Wheeze 

 

"There, that's better, isn't it?" 

 

"You can't..." tietietie "Well, maybe you can, but you shouldn't!" 

 

"I think I can get your legs a little wider apart if I just..." cinch "Oh, that's beautiful!" 

 

Clive started searching the room. Joxer, after ascertaining that he was, indeed, securely tied face down, spread eagled across Ares's altar, watched him. "What are you looking for?" 

 

"Most religions keep oil ready for anointing and such. I'm trying to locate their stash." 

 

"Why?" Clive leered. Joxer swallowed. "Oh. Uh, maybe I didn't mention this when we were discussing the zodiac, but I... Um... I'm..." 

 

Clive had just located a small pot of oil in a cabinet. He went back to the altar and gave Joxer a broad smile. "Joxer, love, are you trying to tell me that you're a Virgo?" 

 

"Kinda." His voice was very small. 

 

Clive bent over and gave him a gentle kiss. "That's all right. Deflowering is a minor specialty of mine. Now, you need a safe word." 

 

"Safe word?" 

 

"That's the word that you use when you're really, truly serious about stopping what's going on. I ignore all the usual ones like 'stop', 'quit it', or 'have mercy'. It has to be something that normally doesn't come up during sex play, and you only use it when you really want me to stop. Any suggestions?" 

 

"Uh..." 

 

"No, too close to what you might say during sex. Try again." 

 

"Oh, Tartarus!" 

 

"Good one. Tartarus it is. Now, time to get this party started." Clive parted Joxer's cheeks and started to dip his fingers in the oil, but he paused. "Oh, wait a minute." 

 

Joxer flushed. "I bathed this morning." 

 

Clive laughed. "Not that, precious. In fact, far from it. What type of oil is this, anyway?" sniff "Ooo, olive oil! Perfect." He dipped his fingers in the pale green-gold oil, parted Joxer's cheeks again, and stroked it down the crease. "No, the reason I did 'wait a minute' was that you look just absolutely scrumptious." 

 

"Scrum...?" Joxer gasped. "Oh, no! You don't mean...?" 

 

"Don't I?" Clive bent down. Slurp 

 

Joxer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he chanted quietly, "Zeuszeuszeuszeus..." 

 

"I don't hear a Tartarus, so I'm going to assume I should keep on." Licklicklicklick 

 

mooan 

 

"I love an appreciative bottom. Reward time, precious." Probe 

 

whiiiiiiiine 

 

Clive noticed that Joxer was humping against the altar. He reached underneath the bound man, sliding his hand along the flat, heaving belly, and found a very nice sized, very hard cock. "Oh, well, hello there!" stroke squeeze 

 

"Ohplease, ohplease..." 

 

"Please what, dear?" fondle 

 

"Anything!" 

 

"Well..." Clive reached back around and quickly slid a greased finger deep into Joxer's slightly relaxed hole. "How about this?" Joxer made a chirping sound of surprise, but he didn't say the safe word. "Is this your first time for even an exploratory probe?" 

 

"No-ot exactly, but it feels different when someone else does it." 

 

"Oh, it certainly does. Because for one thing, another person can go deeper, like this." Clive pushed strongly. The slender man on the altar moaned happily. Clive worked his finger in and out slowly a few times. "Ready for number two?" 

 

"Tuh-two? I don't think I can manage two." 

 

"Nonsense. Besides, my cock is a good deal bigger than two fingers, so you need to be ready." 

 

"Your...? Just a second... oh, man!" The second finger had slipped in and they were now being scissored apart, loosening the tight, muscular ring of his anus. It ached a little, but he had a hot wave of pleasure wash through him every time the fingers plunged in. Then the fingers crooked, while Clive pushed deep, as if he were feeling along the walls of the back passage. Then they passed over a certain spot and Joxer yelled, back arching as a spasm of pure ecstasy washed over him. 

 

"Ah. Found it. That was your prostate, dear. Did you know about that?" 

 

"I... I'd heard stories in the taverns, but I thought they were just bragging. You know, like 'I was nailing this Amazon, and her tribe came home, and wanted to join in'." 

 

"Yes, we have those in my world, too. No, this one is perfectly true." rub yowl! "Isn't it nice?" 

 

"I... you... that... Oooo..." 

 

"Ah, we've reached the incoherent stage. Time to move on to the final level." Joxer groaned in disappointment as the fingers pulled out of him. "Don't grumble, pet." Clive walked up to stand beside him, and began unbuttoning his fly. "I just want to give you a preview of coming attractions." When he had his fly only half undone his erection was pressing out eagerly. 

 

Joxer's eyes got even bigger when he saw the size of Clive's prick, and the Dom chuckled. "Oh, please. I'm nice, but I'm not a record setter by any means." 

 

"Can't prove it by me," Joxer mumbled. 

 

"You say the sweetest things." Clive edged closer. "Give us a kiss, lambie." 

 

"Er..." 

 

Clive's voice was firm. "Please don't pretend you don't know what I want, dear. I'll become annoyed, and you don't want me annoyed. I can be so much nicer when I'm pleased." Joxer blinked, then pursed his lips and dropped a soft kiss on the head of Clive's cock. "That's a good start." The dark haired man closed his eyes and licked tentatively. Clive caressed his cheek. "Oh, what a good boy." Encouraged, Joxer licked again, checking to see what he was doing this time, and managing to dip the tip of his tongue into the tiny slit. Clive shuddered with pleasure and pushed his hips forward. A surprised Joxer had enough presence of mind to open his mouth, and the head slipped between his lips. Immediately he sucked instinctively. The Dom sighed. "Oh, yes. Keep doing that, precious." 

 

Joxer obeyed. Clive began to hump, driving his cock shallowly in and out of Joxer's mouth. He bent close and whispered. "You know, I can go a lot deeper in your ass, darling. Yes. I want you to think about that for a moment. Think about that nice, firm cock sliding over your prostate, again and again and again." 

 

Joxer thought. He spit out Clive's cock and said, "Fuck me, please." 

 

"Such a polite boy. Of course I'll fuck you, pet. I always intended to, but it is nicer when the bottom asks for it." 

 

Clive moved back behind Joxer and knelt up on the altar between his wide spread legs. He parted the man's buttocks again, and this time he leaned forward to press his cockhead against the glistening hole. "You're going to feel very, very full, pet. Take a deep breath, try to relax, and remember your safe word." Clive started to push. 

 

Joxer made a breathy sound as the warm, solid mass of flesh moved up into him. 'Full' was an understatement. He felt stuffed, and Clive was still moving. It ached, and he considered using the safe word, but Clive started rubbing circles on his back, crooning to him in a pleased tone of voice, and he held off. 

 

He was panting by the time that Clive lay flat on his back, buried to the hilt. "Oh, my," Clive whispered. "What a brave little boy you are. You took it all the very first time without complaining a bit. I'm so proud of you. Now I'll make you feel very, very good." He started to move, and Joxer lost contact with reality for awhile. 

 

All there was was the heat, and the fullness, and the friction when he passed over that special place. Soon Joxer was whimpering and lifting up to meet each thrust. Clive obliged him by speeding and strengthening his thrusts until he was pounding into the willing ass with all his strength. 

 

Joxer achieved his first orgasm ever with another man, crying out as his seed spilled on the soft, warm velvet. His ass clenched tightly around Clive's buried cock, and the Dom snarled, lunging even deeper as he reached his own release. When he felt the hot, liquid gush, Joxer's sperm spurted even more strongly, and, unconsciously, he squeezed. Clive gasped in delighted surprise at the milking sensation. 

 

When it was over he withdrew his softening prick and kissed Joxer on the back of the neck before climbing down and doing up his pants. He walked back to the front of the altar and gave the panting man a deep kiss. "That was lovely, pet. Thank you." 

 

"Welcome," Joxer gasped. "Thank you." 

 

"My pleasure. Literally." 

 

"Can I get up now?" 

 

"Oh, I don't know. I'd rather like to just admire you like this for awhile. Debauched is a good look for you." 

 

There was a faint, crackling buzz, and Joxer looked up alertly, then began tugging on his restraints. "Really, I need to get up now. That's Ares on his way." 

 

"You don't say? Leather God himself, eh?" 

 

"Yeah, and Zeus only knows what he'll do to me if he finds me like this. It's a terrible breach of protocol. So if you'll just untie me..." 

 

"Mmmm... I don't think so." 

 

"What? You have to," Joxer said, desperate. 

 

"I thought you'd know by now, love--I don't have to do anything. And I, for one, have my own theories about what Ares would do to you if he found you tied naked, hot, and well fucked on his altar." 

 

Joxer was eyeing two growing red shimmers with near panic. "Oh, crap! That means that either Strife or Eris is with him. Does it involve him kicking my ass? Maybe cutting off my head?" 

 

"Well, ass and head are involved, but not in the way you fear. I think I'll just slip behind this other set of drapes over here and observe for a bit. Don't mention I'm here. I don't want to get harsh with you." 

 

Clive hid. One shimmer coalesced into a tall, slender, very pale young man with spiky black hair. He was dressed in a leather outfit with chrome accents that Clive highly approved of. When he saw Joxer laid out on the altar his mouth dropped open in surprise. "Well, bugger me!" It was all Clive could do, even after the recent bout, not to take him up on it. 

 

He came closer to the altar. "Joxer, right? Yah, you've helped me out on a few pranks without knowin' it." He examined the bindings closely, and whistled. "Someone meant business." Then he peered at Joxer's butt. He slipped a finger into the crease, then grinned. "Oo, looks like someone's been samplin' Unc's offerins." He raised his voice. "Unca Ares, yer gonna wanna see this!" 

 

The second shimmer solidified into a tall, dark haired, bearded man, also dressed in serious leather. He was scowling at a parchment. "What is it, Strife? I'm trying to estimate the probable casualties of that next battle in Thebes, and..." 

 

Strife pushed down the paper and pointed. "Check it out, dude! I wish MY followers would leave me presents like that. You interested in goin sharesies?" 

 

Joxer pressed his face to the altar, moaning, "I hope Cerebus doesn't chew me up too bad on the way to the underworld." 

 

Ares glanced up, looked back at the parchment, then snapped his head back up. "What in the name of Aphrodite's peekaboo tunic is going on here?" 

 

Joxer smiled weakly. "Let me explain." 

 

Ares stalked closer. "If there's a logical explanation for this, I'd love to hear it." 

 

"I didn't say anything about logical." 

 

Ares looked at Strife. "It's him." 

 

Strife nodded. "Yah. I recognized him from tha scryin mirror ya keep nexta yer bed." He snickered. "Tha one with come splatters on it." He peered past Ares at Joxer and informed the bound man. "Betcha didn't know ya had an audience when ya jerked off." 

 

"Look," Joxer said hastily. "Someone is playing a joke. Ha ha," he laughed weakly. "If you'll just let me go and not kill me, I'll see what I can do about bringing him back to you, so you can mete out just punishment." 

 

"Punishment? If I ever get my hands on him, I'll make him a favored high priest. I've been trying to figure out the right way to get you in this position for months." 

 

Joxer blinked. "You have?" 

 

Ares was unlacing his pants. "Tartarus, yes! You make me hornier than Pan's pipes." He caressed Joxer's ass as he stroked his own erect cock. "And here you are, already open and ready to go." 

 

"It doesn't bother you that you won't be my first?" 

 

"Nah. Virginity can be nice, but it can also be over rated. I may not be your first," he climbed up on the alter between Joxer's legs, "But I promise you I'll be your best." 

 

There was a flash, and Strife sat cross-legged on the floor, a large bowl of fresh popcorn on his knees. "I'd call Cupe for this, but he gets a little squicked at tha idea of his dad havin sex," he informed Joxer. 

 

Clive carefully sat on the floor also. I have to watch Xena more often. And I need to cruise the AresJoxerCupidStrife website again for updates. He sighed quietly, his eyes closing. You can never have too much Joxer. 

 

 

Clive's eyes popped open. He looked down his torso toward his groin. The visible waistband was cotton, not leather. There was a magazine unfolded over his groin, and more than the staples was holding it up. Clive sat up, lifting it, and regarded the picture of Joxer. Am I mistaken, or is there a bit more of a twinkle in his eyes than was there before? And I'd swear that the Ares actor looks a lot smugger. 

 

He got up off the couch and walked briskly over to where Trenton sat in front of the computer. Without preamble he punched the power button. "Hey!" Trenton protested. "If it's bedtime, okay, but you didn't even give me time to close Windows." 

 

Clive jerked him to his feet and swatted him on the rump, pushing him toward the bedroom. "You'll find some nice braided satin cords in the bottom drawer, Trent. Also get the velvet spread out of the linen closet. I'll be in in just a moment." 

 

"Mm, sounds like you have something definite planned," he grinned. 

 

"It came to me in a dream." 

 

"I love it when that happens. Where will you be while I'm doing this?" 

 

"In the kitchen, getting the olive oil." He paused, then cupped his hands over Trenton's head in a measuring gesture. He nodded, then bustled off, saying, "And the pasta strainer."


	6. Chapter 6: We All Need a Little Mischief In Our Lives: Clive visits the Xenaverse again

Crossover: Xena

 

 

*sniiiiiiiiiiif* 

 

*honk* 

 

"Been there. Done that. I'm Strife. I'm bad." 

 

"You tell them, Lilywhite." *achoo* "Oh, gahd." *raprap* "Come in, predcious. Ihd's open." 

 

The door to Clive's apartment opened, and Trenton came in, frowning. "Clive, -I- know that you're a bad ass, but every crook on the street DOESN'T know that, and you ought to keep your door locked." 

 

"Dohn'd teach your grahndmother to suck edds, ped." 

 

Trenton had been dropping his textbooks on the table, now he turned around quickly. All that was visible on the couch was the top of a messy looking dark gold head. "What's wrong?" 

 

*choo* *sniff* "I behlieve ihd's cahlled a cohld, ped." 

 

Trenton hurried over. "Bettina said you were just taking an afternoon off, she didn't say anything about you being sick." 

 

Clive was bundled up to his chin in an afghan, stretched out on the sofa. He looked pale, very tired, and, yes, sick. He was never less than gorgeous, but seeing him looking so strained gave Trenton an uncomfortable squeezing sensation around his heart. It bore a vague resemblence to the way he'd felt when he was sixteen and his mother was down with the flu for a week--certain people just weren't supposed to GET sick. 

 

"Perhabs thahd's becaudse I dihn't -tell- her I was sick. Lohrd, ped, she's fluttery enough as id is, dohn'd you think?" 

 

Trenton sat on the edge of the sofa beside him and put his hand on Clive's forehead, pushing the heavy hair up. "You don't feel feverish, so I guess I can put back the panic for a little while." 

 

"Noh, id only god up to aboud a hundred, and id wend down quickly." He sighed. "Move over, predcious. I love you, buhd you are NOD see-through." 

 

"Oh, sorry." Trenton shifted, glancing at the television. A slender, maniacally grinning man dressed in black leather was doing something to annoy a very big, buff, pissed-off looking man in a vest. "Xena? When you're sick?" 

 

"You cahn judst ged thad disapproving tone OUD of your voides, young man. Ahnd id's NOD Xena--id's Young Hercules. They're having a marathon ond the Family Channel." 

 

"Family channel, huh? I guess they don't know the kind of thoughts the Hercules-Xena guys inspire in you." This didn't even get a chuckle or a leer. "Man, you ARE sick. You need to go see a doctor. I can drive you." 

 

Clive's arms emerged from the cocoon. "Hahnd me a tissue, darling." Trenton did. *honk* "Now then. Firdst off, I have BEEN to the dohctor thids morningd. Secondly, whad makes you think I'd led you drive my car unless I was going into cardiac arredst?" Trenton rolled his eyes. "As was suspected, I have a cohd--a 24 hour one ihnd his opiniond. I am to rest, drink plenty of lihdquids, and take some over the counder medicine. I am already much improved." He waved vaguely at the coffee table. It was littered with an empty soup bowl and spoon, a thermos, an insulated pitcher, two glasses (one of which had a citrusy smell to it), an open box of cold capsules, and a drift of crumpled tissues. "Lundch, medicine, wahder ahnd juice." He waved at the door, "Ahnd the reason the door was unlocked is because The Snark whads up ahnd down the stairs every fifdeen mihnuds--ihd was judst easier." 

 

Trenton was about to make a comment, when he froze. The afghan over Clive's crotch had twitched. Clive noticed his stare and followed his gaze. The afghan twitched again. Trenton looked at Clive. Clive raised an eyebrow. "I thought you felt sick, and you're SOMETHING, Clive, but THAT?" 

 

Clive pulled back the covers. A small orange tabby was curled up on his crotch, purring and kneading at his sweatpants. "Trend, love, please remove my liddle visidor. I'm sure she meands well, bud those claws are judst too damn closedo certain areas." Trenton gently lifted the little animal. She came willingly, perfectly capable of recognizing a soft touch when she saw one. "The Snark claims thad cats are very therapudic. Who am I to argue? Sed her outside--she can ged back into the apardment through the ped door." 

 

Trenton did. When he returned, Clive had poured himself some water and was downing a cold capsule. He sighed, setting the glass back down. "Thandk goodness I didn ged a cough. I HADE cough syrup." He made a face. "Nadsty stuff. Id must be around five or sidx if you're here, predcious." He frowned. "Thad means The Snark hadsn't charged up ond a mission of merdcy for over four hours. I hope nodthing's happend to her." 

 

"Uh... no. No, she's fine." 

 

"Good. She said someding aboud going dowd to visid at Attitudes. I thoughd she'd tell you aboud this mess." He waved at the coffee table. 

 

"Ye-eh, she came in, all right." 

 

Trenton's eyes and tone was troubled. Clive squinted at him suspiciously. "Trehdon, ped, what happened?" 

 

Trenton pointed brightly. "Look, it's Strife again! Man, wouldn't you like to get your hands on HIS wardrobe?" 

 

"Ooo, midsdiredtion--NOD a good signd. I'll adsk again--whad happend?" Trenton fidgeted. "Whaddid that old pepperpod finagle thids time?" 

 

"Well..." Trenton got up and began pacing nervously. "She came in, and she wanted a new coloring." 

 

"Yeds?" Clive's tone was ominous. 

 

"She said she was bored with what she'd had lately, and she wanted to try something, uh, fresh and dramatic." 

 

Clive closed his eyes. "Oh, gahd. I've bed trying to ged her to try someding less cartoonish for adges. I gave strigged orders to everyone ad the shop nod to led her talk them indo..." He trailed off. Opening his eyes, he looked at a fidgeting Trenton. Trenton had recently been allowed to start practising his skills on willing customers, but there were some places he KNEW he wasn't ready to go. Clive's voice was soft. "Trehdon? Darling, ped, sweedhard... Tell me you didn." 

 

Trenton was backing toward the door, giving him a strained smile. "You're all clogged. You know what's good for that?" 

 

"Trehdon..." 

 

"Ginger and lemon tea, with honey. Mom gives it to me when my sinuses go bad, but we don't have any ginger or lemon, and we used the last of the honey I think when we were playing slave boy at a Roman orgy..." He was fumbling behind him at the doorknob while he babbled. 

 

"Trehdon!" 

 

"SoI'llgogetsomeandI'llberightback." *slam* *thump* One of Clive's pillows thudded against the shut door, and he swore quietly as he listened to Trenton scramble down the stairs. The outside door slammed. 

 

"Sod of a bidge," Clive sighed. He lay back tiredly, eyes turning back to the screen. Strife was capering happily over some bit of confusion he'd just sown. "Gahd, predcious, I thing I know how Ares mudst feel aboud you somedimes. Well," he settled back. "He'll be back evedually, then we'll see." His eyes drifted shut. "Yeds, we'll see..." 

 

***** 

 

*I do not BELIEVE this. I'm waking up on a cold marble floor AGAIN. Hm, well, at least my voice isn't all clogged up anymore. Oh, wait--I'm thinking, not talking.* 

 

Clive sat up and took a deep breath. The fact that he was ABLE to take a deep breath made him think that the cold was probably gone. *And I should hope so. I damn sure don't want to DREAM about being sick. Now, what sort of little scenario has my subconscious cooked up for me this time?* 

 

Clive got up, looking around. He seemed to be in some sort of closet sized alcove, one wall of which was made up of a curtain. The only object in the room was a chair, facing the curtain. Clive moved up to the curtain and listened carefully. Even in dreams it wasn't good idea to just go waltzing into unfamiliar situations. 

 

The room outside must be pretty big--it had that sort of echoing accoustics. And there were a fair number of people out there. There wasn't a lot of milling around, but there was a constant murmur of voices. *Hushed voices. Have I gotten myself into some sort of a church? Heavens, I hope I'm not having an audience with the pope.* He looked down at his sweatpants and Tee-shirt. *I'm simply NOT dressed for it. I'd put on the best suede for the old dear. Hm, so, if this is a dream...* 

 

He remembered how he'd changed his clothing in his dream where he'd visited ancient Greece and met, and made, Joxer the Mighty. He concentrated fiercely. In a moment he was in head-to-toe butter-soft black suede. *Much better. I feel like myself again. Now, let's check this out.* 

 

He eased one side of the curtain back a half inch and peeked through. "Oh, my. Well, deja fucking vu." 

 

It was the same temple he'd awakened in before--Ares' temple, but from a different angle, and it was a LOT more populated than it had been. Before there'd been no one but him and the wanna-be warrior--now there were several dozen people wandering about the main chamber. 

 

The ones in black and scarlet robes, looking so solemn that their spit was probably sour were most likely the priests, he thought. The others all wore some sort of armor or caried nastily lethal looking weapons, so these would be warlords and warriors. Clive wrinkled his nose. Apparently washing wasn't high up on the list of 'Things to Do When You're Bent On Conquest'. *Drat. Where the hell is the ceremonial incense when you need it?* 

 

The priests seemed to be occupied up at the altar, chanting and genuflecting and such. The worshippers would usually go up and lay some offering on the table, then kneel to pray--that was the constant muttering. Clive stood on tiptoes and tried to see what was laid out on the altar. *Hm. Heavily into edged weapons, I see. Must get a bit tedious. You'd think someone would bring a nice bottle of wine. If they MUST stick to instruments of pain, there's such a LOVELY selection of crops and whips out there.* He frowned. *Or is there now? Perhaps they're still into functional, rather than creative.* 

 

He noticed something a bit peculiar. There was one person other than the priests who seemed to be roaming about the outer room at will. He was a tall, slender young man, dreassed in skin tight black leather. Something about his lean body and the smooth way he moved reminded Clive warmly of Trenton. And though his eyes were pale blue instead of bright green, there was a certain devilish sparkle in them very reminiscent of Clive's own beloved submissive when he was bent on teasing his Dom into a punishment. 

 

The funny thing was that no one seemed to be paying any attention to the young man. He'd pass inches in front of a kneeling man, one of the decorative chains *Oo, nice touch, that* barely missing the man's nose, and the other one wouldn't even blink. When one of the departing warriors suddenly veered around the lounging man at the last moment, bumping into someone larger than him and earning a growl, Clive got a little suspicious. His suspicions were confirmed when the man slouched up to the altar and goosed one of the priests. 

 

The dignified man whirled, glaring around angrily. His tormentor was standing right in front of him, arms crossed, grinning, but the man kept looking from side to side. The pale young man stuck out his tongue, crossing his eyes, then giggled when there was no reaction. The priest rolled his eyes heavenward *or I suppose that would be Olympusward here* and muttered, "Strife!" The Mischief God saluted, smirking, as the other man went back to his supplications. 

 

"Oooh, yessss," Clive breathed. Now he remembered. How had he possibly forgotten? That bad boy smirk, those leathers, that hair... His fingers twitched. Inky dark, messy spikes that he could just imagine rummaging in, disarranging and rearranging. 

 

Clive was distracted for a moment when a hulking warlord came up and knelt before the curtain that hid him. He jerked back quickly as the man said, "Oh favored priest of Ares, I seek advice." 

 

*Well, I seem to be in some sort of confessional. Now what the fuck do I do?* Theorizing that it probably wouldn't be in his best interests to make himself known quite yet, Clive grunted. 

 

"As Lord Ares knows, I have had a truce with my neighbor, Clymentis, for the past three seasons. It has worked well, to both our advantages. But..." he sighed deeply. "At the last feast we shared, there was a misunderstanding. He thought I disrespected him, and he left in anger. Since then things have grown tense between us. I do not want to lose this alliance, sir. How can I mend this rift?" 

 

Clive stared at the curtains, then shrugged. "Flowers are always good." 

 

The man's voice was hesitant. "Flowers?" 

 

"Or candy. Maybe a bottle of wine, a nice meal served by firelight. A sensual massage..." 

 

"This IS a man I'm talking about." 

 

"Yes?" Silence. "You asked for advice--you got it." 

 

"I... thank you, sir." As he walked away he was muttering. "Flowers. Candy." His voice gave an interested lift. "Massage?" When he was sure the area was clear, Clive resumed his vigil. 

 

Strife continued doing what he did best--causing mischief. He stood close behind one fiercely dignified looking warlord, stepping carefully on the cape that swirled on tht floor behind him. When the man went to stand up, it ripped--but not before he'd been jerked unceremoniously back on his ass. 

 

Next Strife chose a very large, rugged warrior wearing a lot of close fitting armor. Clive could hear him humming to himself as he studied the man, who was praying that he acquit himself with dignity in some upcoming contest of skills. Seems he had a rep he wanted to protect. Whistling softly, Strife held out his hand, palm up. A tiny grey mouse with bright, beady eyes appeared on his palm. He picked the rodent up by its naked pink tail, kissed it on the tip of its twitching nose, and whispered, "There's a cookie in there, Mousie. If ya find it, ya can have it." Then he slipped the eagerly squirming rodent down the neck of the warrior's armor. 

 

The resulting screaming and thrashing cleared the temple pretty effectively. Everyone seemed to think that he'd gone into some sort of premature battle frenzy. The warrior himself finally fainted, and a couple of his braver comrades came back and carried him out, whispering about possession. They ignored the Mischief God, who was rolling on the floor, breathless with laughter. 

 

Clive didn't blame him too much, since he'd bitten his lips bruised, trying not to make any noise. It HAD been pretty funny, though rather mean spirited. Strife was now lying on his belly, face to the floor, pounding the marble weakly with one fist. "Oh, we ARE pleased with ourself," Clive murmurred. He used lucid dreaming to think up an item he needed, then silently crept out of the alcove. 

 

Strife heard the footsteps, but ignored them. If it was a mortal, they wouldn't see him. If it was a divinity they could either laugh with him, or bugger off. Fuck 'em if they couldn't take a joke. He sobered marginally, the last laugh turning into a snort. Of course, if it was Uncle Ares or his Mom--THAT could be dangerous. He prepared to get up and act either contrite or defiant, depending on the circumstances. He didn't get the chance. 

 

In very rapid succession, knees thudded down on either side of him, and a heavy body sat on the small of his back, pinning him very efficiently. Cold metal snapped around his outstretched right hand, and it was jerked up behind his back. At the same time a hard, warm hand grabbed his LEFT wrist, jerking it back and similarly trapping it. In about two seconds, Strife found himself with his hands shackled behind his back. 

 

Angry, he bucked, and at the same time exerted his will to snap the cuffs open. It didn't work. He remained chained, and got an arm passed around his neck, a hard forarm pressing against his throat and forcing his head back. "Naughty, naughty, precious. Mustn't fight with Daddy." 

 

Strife shivered at the rough purr that tickled his ear. He twisted, directing a stab of energy at the restraints, and had no more luck than he'd had the first time. "Ah, shit. All right, who tha Tartarus have I pissed off now, an' how much blood am I gonna hafta lose ta get ya off my case?" 

 

"Oo, you're used to rough trade, aren't you, sweetums?" Whoever it was mapped the curve of Strife's ear with a warm, wet tongue, then tugged gently with his teeth at one of the earrings. 

 

Strife froze, eyes narrowed, and reached out with his divine senses to try to figure out exactly who it was on top of him. He wasn't used to anyone being both this rough and this... playful. He didn't recognize any divine power signature, so it had to be a mortal, but if that was so... 

 

"How tha fuck didya get ahold of Hephastian chains, mortal? I know that Heph don't hand 'em out ta you earth crawlers, so ya musta stole 'em. If ya let me up, maybe I won't tell whoever it is ya lifted 'em from." 

 

"Nice try. I didn't steal them--I made them myself--after a fashion." 

 

"That's impossible. Metal forged by mortals can't hold a god. And ya DO realize who yer messin' with, huh?" 

 

"I know. We haven't been formally introduced, but I HAVE seen you before." Clive reached back and squeezed the leather-clad butt voluptuously. "I've been hoping I'd get back here sometime or other. Joxer was a lot of fun, but YOU... Darling, you look like a whole damn amusement park." 

 

"There's somethin familiar about ya aftah all." Strife tilted his head, barely managing to look back at Clive. Clive bent and kissed the tip of his nose, winking at him. Strife stared in astonishment. Even Cupid seldom thought to be THIS playful with him. He did another scan of the mortal who had him trapped so effectively. "Yah, I've felt yer energy trace around here before--right aftah Unc found Joxer on his altar, all tied up like a Soltice present." 

 

"I do hope he enjoyed the little token." 

 

"Are you kiddin'? Him an' Joxie are an item now. I expect him ta make tha Mighty One wunna my in-laws any day now." 

 

"Oh, that's so sweet! I just love match-making." 

 

Another big warlord, a very puzzled looking one, came into the temple. When he spied the two men on the floor he hesitated, but whatever was on his mind over-rode common sense, and he approached. 

 

He was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, all the shades of the rainbow. Strife said, "If that's an offerin', I give ya points fah originality. I don't think anyone's eveh given Unca Ares wunna those." 

 

The man paled when he realized who had spoken--Strife, God of Mischief, someone you DEFINITELY did not want to get on the bad side of. And that handsome blond man, the one sitting on Strife and nuzzling his hair, had to be some sort of god, too, right? Someone from the House of War, or the House of Death, judging from his all black attire. Better not to upset either of them, but he HAD to get some advice--quickly. 

 

He lowered his eyes. "Your lordships, I beg pardon for disturbing you, but I must ask your opinions. I... In all my years as a warlord, I've never been confronted with a situation like this, and I fear to make the wrong move would destroy an alliance, and a friendship." 

 

Clive stretched out on top of Strife, making himself comfortable, ignoring the godling's mutters. "Speak away, precious." 

 

The man took a breath. "Lately there has come a rift between me and my friend and ally--Hermonicus. I don't even remember what caused it--some foolishly spoken phrase. I've wanted to heal the rift, but my pride and care for my image has held me back. Today he came to my hold and... and gave me..." He lifted the flowers, "These." 

 

"Nice," said Strife. "So?" 

 

The man cleared his throat. "He also gave me a large box of sugared nuts." He blushed slightly. "I once confessed a weakness for them, and it seems he remembered. Then he invited me to his own hold tonight for a quiet supper with wine, to talk about our problem, and... and..." 

 

"And?" prompted Clive. 

 

"He... he said that perhaps a massage would help. Perhaps as the tensions in our bodies eased, so would the tensions in our friendship." 

 

"Sounds good ta me," commented Strife. "What's yer problem?" 

 

"We're both men." 

 

Clive and Strife chorussed, "Yes?" 

 

"That's just what he said." The man looked hopeful. "So it wouldn't be unmanly to accept this... this overture of peace?" 

 

"Darling," drawled Clive, "A REAL man doesn't give a flying fuck for what the rest of society thinks about what he does with his personal life. If you want it, go for it." Clive had his hand in Strife's hair--now he shook his head gently. "Right, Funbuns?" 

 

"Like I said before, sounds good ta me. Scram." The man hurried out with a glad smile. Strife started giggling. "I'm gonna guess that you were hidin in tha private audience alcove when his friend came in for advice." 

 

"Got it in one." 

 

"Whooo, it should be interestin' when Unc finds out about this. Are you sure you ain't wunna my followers? That was pretty neat mischief makin'." 

 

"Thank you. It isn't my usual territory, but I like to do my part. Tell me, cutie, can you lock those outer doors from here?" 

 

"Yah, sure." 

 

"Do that little thing for me, would you?" 

 

"Why should I?" 

 

Strife squeaked as his hands were drawn up between his shoulder blades. "Because it would make me EVER so pleased." 

 

"Good enough fah me." There was the sound of heavy doors clanging shut, and heavy bars thudding into place. "Say, exactly who are ya, anyways? Joxer just blushes when I try ta ask 'im about ya. I figure ya must be from some othah Pantheon, since ya can come an' go at will, an' ya have access..." he wiggled his fingers, "ta power negatin' restraints." 

 

"No divinity, precious--just Clive. And as to how I managed to put a damper on your special little talents, this is a dream." 

 

Strife sounded interested. "Yah? Ya mean I got Morpheus ta thank fah this?" He chuckled. "Cool." 

 

Clive smiled. "I think we're going to get along just fine."


	7. Chapter 7: I COULD Have Titled This Cock Robin, but That Would Have Been Too Much

Crossover: Batman

 

 

"Tiffany, precious, the chairs are not for climbing on. Lamb, no, don't play with the cord for the blow dryer. SCISSORS!" 

 

The yell startled the tiny four-year-old blond girl into dropping the nice, shiny toy she'd just found. She started wailing as Trenton scooped her up into his arms and started petting her soothingly. Her mother had sat up abruptly in her chair at the first sound of distress, and now she was adding her complaints to those of her daughter, since she'd just had shampoo drip in her eyes. 

 

Clive winced, but picked up the sharp barber's shears, checked them for damage, and slipped them back into the jar of sanitizing solution, then pushed the jar farther back on the counter. "Wanda, dear, I LOVE children, honestly I do, but this is NOT the place for toddlers--not unless someone can ride herd." 

 

"I'm sorry, Clive," Wanda Glowars said meekly. "I tried, honest, but my babysitter wanted to go stand on line for tickets to the concert by that new boy band, and I couldn't get anyone else, and I just COULDN'T miss this appointment, since I have to go to my husband's awards dinner, and..." 

 

"Please, darling, cease the flow," Clive sighed. The little girl had stopped sobbing and was sniffing now. Clive said, "I'm sorry I snapped, Tiffany, but..." Tiffany moaned and threw her arms around Trenton's neck, burying her face in his hair. 

 

Trenton rubbed her back. "Oh, come on, Tiff-Clive wouldn't hurt you. He was worried. Those scissors were sharp--hurt the baby." 

 

She pulled back and looked at Trenton doubtfully. "Hurt the baby?" Trenton nodded. She looked doubtfully at Clive, then pointed at him. "Hurt the baby?" 

 

"NO, precious. Most certainly not," Clive assured her. He made a face. She giggled, hiding her face in Trenton's hair again, but she peeked back at the Dom. 

 

Clive leaned close, his voice conspiratorial. "Doesn't Trenton have NICE hair, Tiffany?" 

 

She nodded, and petted Trent's curls. Trenton blushed, because he knew EXACTLY how his lover felt about hair in general, and Trenton's hair in particular. "Clive..." 

 

"What, precious? Just promoting an early and earnest appreciation of one of the body's most wondrous features. You hang on to Little Miss Busy till Lynette is finished with her mom." 

 

"Yes, sir." He bounced Tiffany on his hip. "How about looking at a magazine, munchkin?" He sat in the chair beside Lynette's station and grabbed up a magazine with a bright, splashy cover, "Here ya go--Vox Populi." 

 

"Trenton, are you going to feed that cherub trash?" 

 

"You read it." 

 

"I didn't say I didn't like it--I just said it was trash." 

 

"It's okay," called Wanda. "Tiff loves Populi. It has pictures of all the famous people in it." 

 

"Sure does," said Trent. He'd settled Tiffany on his lap, and he opened the magazine across HER lap. "Look, Tiff!" He pointed. "There's Scribe, from the last time she was here." 

 

"What?" Clive peered over his shoulder. "I thought we managed to avoid the paparrazi, but apparently not." 

 

"What IS that she's wearing?" Trenton asked. 

 

Clive indicated the caption. "She calls them Mickey Mouse ears." 

 

"Looks like two black coasters on a skullcap." He cocked his head. "But on her, it's kind of cute. I want to know how she got her name embroidered on it." Trenton turned the pages slowly. 

 

Suddenly Tiffany got very excited, and started poking the paper. "Rob, Rob, Rob!" 

 

"Which Rob?" asked Clive. 

 

"THE," said Trenton. "Tell Clive his full name, sweetie." 

 

Tiffany scrunched up her face, concentrated very hard, and slowly said, "Raaaah-bin." 

 

"Oh, I know HIM!" Clive bent to look at the paper again. The photo was taken at some event promoting good public relations between teens and law enforcement agencies. "Oo, and he's in full costume, too--black cape, red bodysuit, green sleeves and tights, high black boots, fringed gloves..." Clive sighed, eyes dreamy. "Mmm. I may have gotten an idea for your next birthday prezzie, precious." 

 

Trenton snorted good naturedly. "Yeah, I'll be like the wife who gets a box from Fredrique's of Fresno. 'Is this a present for ME or for YOU?'" 

 

"You get like that and I might just pull off that utility belt and use it to..." Tiffany turned wide blue eyes up to him, "Oh, er, uh..." Trenton raised an eyebrown. "Hold your pants up. You're in for it later, Mister, you know that?" Trent grinned. "Change the subject." 

 

"Okay." Trent flipped the page. "Look, Tiff--a poem. 'To My Toy Boy. When I introduced you, my mother shook her head. "I wanted you to have a child, but not like this," she said.'" Trent looked up innocently. "Do you need a glass of water, Clive? You sounded like you were choking?" 

 

"After tonight, don't plan on sitting down anytime soon, precious." 

 

"Pome!" said Tiffany. She tugged Trenton's collar. "Say pome." 

 

"What kind, sweetheart?" 

 

"Goose kind." 

 

"Mother Goose? Um, let's see... Hickory, dickory, dock..." 

 

"Pome 'bout bird," said Tiffany. She turned the page back and patted the picture of the Boy Wonder. "Dis bird." 

 

"Tiff, that's not a bird, that's..." he trailed off as Tiffany looked at him. "Oh. Riiiight. Okay, let's see... Um, I know Rockin' Robin, but that's a song." 

 

"When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along," suggested Wanda. 

 

"That's a song, too. What rhymes do they have about robins? Ah! I have it! 'The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor Robin do then, poor thing? He'll sit in a barn, To keep him self warm, And hide his head under his wing, poor thing'." 

 

"Poor thing indeed," murmured Clive, "if the best shelter he can find is a barn during a snowstorm. I, myself, once managed a snug little cabin with a perfectly delightful Mountie." 

 

Trenton put his hands over Tiffany's ears. "Yes, you've told me about that one. And if I remember correctly, you promised to reinact it with me." 

 

Clive made a kissing motion at him. "When you're ready, precious--when you're ready. I'm still looking for a tunic." He sighed. "I suppose I'll have to have it custom made. For some reason the RCMP are hesitant to sell them to outside parties." 

 

"Talk to Mrs. Havasnark. Among other things, she claims to have been wardrobe mistress to the Metropolis Yiddish Theater." 

 

"Darling, among other things she claims to have been on *cough* intimate terms with five of the last eight presidents. But since I'm firmly convinced that she would have had to mug a gypsy to get most of her outfits, that other claim might very well be true. I'll have to see about finding some reference photos for her." 

 

Tiffany spent the next half hour on Trenton's lap, or toddling after him while he did a few chores. She held the dust pan with great solemnity as the tall boy swept clippings into it. When she managed to dump most of them into the wastebasket, she was lavishly applauded and rewarded with a jellybean, after her mother gave permission, of course. 

 

It was almost closing time when Tiffany gave Trenton and Clive hugs and sticky kisses, then toddled out the door after her freshly coiffed mother. Clive slumped over the counter, letting his head droop to rest against the appointment book. "I am absolutely knackered. Good God, if we could siphon about three per cent of that child's energy, we could stop worrying about nuclear power, because we'd have a reliable energy source." 

 

Trenton, amused, rubbed the small of his back. "And you weren't even doing the majority of the chasing." 

 

Clive arched his back. "A little higher and harder, precious, and use the nails a bit. Theeeere's a good boy. No, I wasn't, but I watched you, and it was positively EXHAUSTING." 

 

"I read somewhere that if an Olympic decathalon athlete tried to exactly duplicate every movement of a toddler, they'd never be able to keep up the pace." 

 

"I can believe it." Clive straightened up and yawned. "How much time left?" 

 

"About forty-five minutes. I'd say let's go home early, but Miss Pembleton specifically asked for me to show her how to set her hair in pin curls, and," he pointed, "that's her about to come in." 

 

"Mm. Well, I tell you what... I'm going back into my station and grab a few winks while you finish her up, then we'll scamper home. The Snark dropped off a nummy beef stroganoff casserole this morning, and," he stood up and rested his chin on Trenton's shoulder, "you are now eighteen, and I thought it would be a good meal to introduce you to the joys of wine." 

 

"Hi, Miss Pembleton!" Trenton greeted the young woman. "You just go on back to the last station on the right and I'll be right with you." Trenton turned laughing green eyes on Clive, whispering, "Are you planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me, you dirty old man?" 

 

Clive bit Trenton lightly on the neck. "Lamb, I don't need to get you drunk to take advantage of you. If I remember correctly, all it takes is rubbing a certain place on your inner thigh." 

 

Trenton shuddered, eyes unfocussing slightly. "Please, Clive. I need to have my hands steady for this." 

 

"You started it, pet." He gave Trenton a kiss. "If anyone else comes in, tell them it's going to have to be tomorrow. Lock up when you're done, then come get me." 

 

Clive walked back to his private station, warmly greeting Trenton's customer before he went in. The boy still had more than a year to go before he got his license, but he was already building a loyal customer base. *Chairside manner,* Clive thought as he shut the door. *My precious has that ellusive something, and he's talented, too. Add that to his stunning good looks and what a package! Precious is going to end up very well known in hair circles, and out, I think.* 

 

Clive dimmed the lights, arranged his special chair till it was a nicely padded, inclined settee, and settled down. He noticed that it was a bit cold in the room, but didn't feel the ambition to get up and adjust the thermostat. Instead he just turned on his side and curled up, murmuring, "The North wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, and what will poor Robin do then, poor thing?" Just as he was drifting off he thought, *Oh, I could come up with a few suggestions.* 

 

***** 

 

Clive looked around at the bleak, twilit countryside and sighed. "Once, just ONCE, I'd like to enter one of these dreams and find myself in a five star luxury hotel, with unlimited room service, including hot-and-..." he smiled, "Well, hot-and-HOT running bellboys." 

 

He looked around, rubbing his arms. *I fell asleep in nice, warm suede. Why have I awakened in thin silk and denim?* He answered himself. *Because this is a DREAM, Clive, and we have yet to discern the logic, or illogic, behind it. Ah, well, I may as well go looking for whatever is going to happen.* 

 

As he trudged along he took note of his surroundings. *Um, I'd say either New Englandish, or America's Heartland. In other words, perfectly rural. Ick. I wonder if I can find a nice bed-and-breakfast.* He shivered. The temperature hadn't been all that toasty to start with, and it was dropping with the sun as it sank behind the horizon. *Somewhere with a roaring fire, and afghans, or a huge four poster bed piled with quilts and feather beds. Mm, I think I just got an idea for my next vacation with Trent. I think he'd make a lovely snowbunny, with those beautiful curls just peaking out from under a knit cap, and his cheeks all flushed with cold... Damn, I'd better stop it. No point in getting warmed up like that when I haven't any way to conserve the heat. And I'd better find some shelter pretty fucking fast, or I'm going to be a Clivecicle. As popular as I'm sure those would be on the open market, I'm NOT ready to sacrifice yet.* 

 

Finally he rounded a bend in the dirt road and was confronted with a very large structure. Clive walked over to it, peered, and sighed. *A barn?* He looked around. *A barn, and no farm house in sight. Isn't this just ducky?* A chilly wind whistled around him, and he felt minute specks of cold moisture on his face. He looked up in time to catch the first really fat flake on his nose. "Well, fuck," he said mildly. "I guess this settles the question of whether or not I soldier on." 

 

There was a normal door to the side of the big, closed double ones. He tried it, and was gratified to find it open. *Because I COULD have kicked it in, but I HATE that whole 'exercise to keep warm' nonsense, unless the exercise happens to be a vigorous shag.* 

 

Clive shut and bolted the door behind him, and looked around. With the encroaching night, it should have been pitch black inside. Instead the interior was dimly illuminated by a faint silver glow from an indeterminate source. *Riiight. Well, we're OFFICIALLY in Dreamland now.* He stepped farther into the barn, looking around. 

 

It was pretty much a cleaned up dream version of a barn. Clive had been around barns and stables a time or two, and he was familiar with the smell. Instead of the ripe scent of herbivore shit, there was just the rather sweet, musky scent of clean hay and straw. If this place had ever housed a farm animal, it was long ago, and the place had been disinfected between then and now. *Fine by me. Mrs. Havasnark's 'babies' are tne closest I care to be to barnyard animals, unless said animal is socially acceptable protien, and has been processed, and is sitting on a warm plate, sizzling.* 

 

There was a large open space, and there were three stalls against the far wall. These were sheltered under an open hayloft. Clive could stand on the floor and look up into it, seeing mounds of golden hay. The only way up appeared to be a steep ladder leading up through a small hole in the floor of the loft. 

 

*Well, it looks like this is beddie-bye for tonight,* he sighed. *I don't suppose I'm going to find Jethro Bodine in one of those haystacks, though, drat it.* 

 

There was a knock on the door, and Clive turned to look at it in surprise. He walked over to it. The knock came again. "Ye-es?" 

 

"Uh, excuse me, I hate to bother you, but I'm lost and EXTREMELY cold. Can I come in?" 

 

The voice was young, and male, and vaguely familiar. "I don't know, dear, CAN you? I can usually think the doors open in situations like this, but then, this is MY dream." He paused. "I think." 

 

"Could we discuss the different natures of reality later? This costume wasn't really designed for cold weather. I'm not wearing my thermal tights." 

 

"Really? Well, then..." Clive unbolted the door. When he opened it he was hit in the face with a burst of cold, snow laden air. "Oof!" He was also hit by a sturdy, snow-dusted young male body. Clive quickly dragged him inside, then shut and bolted the door again. "Now, then, what are you...?" He trailed off. "Well, now!" 

 

He had been truthful--the costume definitely DIDN'T look designed for cold weather. It consisted of yellow tights under abrieviated black trunks (the whole of which gave a splendid view of long, muscular legs), and a sort of red tunic/vest over a short sleeved green shirt. The ensemble was completed by a cape, fringed gloves, and a mask. 

 

Robin (because that's who it was) blinked at him. "Clive? What are you doing here?" 

 

"I already told you, dear--this is my dream." 

 

"Then what am -I- doing here?" 

 

"Same answer." Robin blinked at him. "Where's the Caped Cutie?" 

 

That got a grin out of Robin. "Promise me you'll call him that sometimes when I'm around. I don't know. I was driving the Batmobil a couple of miles down the road--don't ask me how or why, because Bats NEVER lets me drive the Batmobile alone--and it stopped. The Batmobile NEVER breaks down. Even if it did, I'm pretty proficient at mechanics, and I couldn't find a blamed thing wrong with it." 

 

Clive pinched his cheek. "Blamed. You're so CUTE." 

 

Robin blushed. "Anyway, it started snowing, and the heaters didn't work, so there was nothing for it but for me to start walking. This was the first shelter I came to, and I figured I'd better get inside before I froze." He rubbed his arms. "Frankly, I was hoping it would be a bit warmer in here." 

 

"Well, precious, it's a lot better than it is outside, but we're going to have to do our bit to keep comfy. There's plenty of straw and hay, and I understand that those are excellent insulators. And..." he thought hard, then pointed. "I believe that if you look over there, you'll find some nice blankets." 

 

Robin started over to the stalls, prepared to humor Clive. "I'll look, but the place seems pretty deserted, and if there WERE blankets, I doubt they'd be very NICE. They'll probably be..." He paused. "Well, I'll be darned." 

 

Clive chuckled. "Darned." 

 

"Yeah, I know, but Bats doesn't really approve of swearing, and the habit is hard to break when I'm not around him. Anyway, you were right--there are tow horseblankets here." He picked up the blankets that were hanging over the stall dividers. He sniffed them. "They're actually clean." 

 

"Well, I should hope so! As if I'd create dirty blankets." Clive started toward the ladder that led up to the loft. "Bring them along, lamb." Robin did, and Clive bowed to him. "After you, pet." Robin tossed the blankets over his shoulder, then started up the ladder. Clive paused, admiring the flex of muscles in the boy's legs and buttocks as he climbed. He sighed. "Poetry in motion." He cocked his head. "Poetry? Robin, dear, from which direction would you say that the wind was blowing?" 

 

Robin had reached the top of the ladder. "Wow, there's plenty of nice hay up here! This should work out well. Um, it's coming from the North, I think." 

 

"Huh. The North winds doth blow, and we shall have snow." Clive started up the ladder, grinning. "And what shall poor Robin do then, poor thing?" He chuckled. "He'll hide in a barn, to keep himself warm..." *But I think we can find something a little better than hiding your head under your wing.* 

 

When Clive reached the loft, Robin was spreading one of the blankets over a thick pad of hay. "Too bad we couldn't find a couple more blankets. I guess we'll just have to fold them and slip inside." 

 

"We will NOT. I'm not about to have myself strangled in what amounts to a woolen pita pocket. There are two blankets--one for the bottom and one for the top." *And yes, that WAS a double entendre, and you caught it, judging from the yammy blush.* "Look, the only way we are going to avoid mild hypothermia, let alone be comfortable, is to share body heat. Now, as much as I hate to say it," Clive started to tug off his boots. "Off with the boots. Play is one thing, but if we're going to be actually SLEEPING, I don't want footwear in bed with me." Robin hesitated. "Darling, I'd rather not have to remove those. Trenton enjoys playing bootboy, but I much prefer Lord of the Manor, and can you POSSIBLY blush any redder? My God, I haven't seen anything like that since Benny." 

 

Robin removed his boots, flexing his toes, and set them neatly to the side. Clive approved. He loved neat submissives. Clive began to unbutton his shirt, and Robin said, "Clive, should you do that? I mean, the more layers of clothes..." 

 

"Dear, skin-to-skin contact is MUCH more effective." 

 

"It is?" 

 

"It certainly is in my world." Clive waved a finger at him. "So get rid of the pretty ensemble." Robin undid the fasteners on his tunic top, slipping it off to reveal his green, short sleeved shirt. 

 

Clive had his own shirt off. Robin noticed that his nipples were puckered, drawn up into firm points. Clive noticed him noticing, and raised an eyebrow. Robin said quickly. "Nature's thermometers, huh?" 

 

"Why, yes," said Clive. He tweaked first one, then the other. "They show that I'm hot." Clive swaggered over to Robin and settled his hands on the boy's chest, then pinched. "Oh, look--you're hot, too." 

 

Robin didn't try to pull away, but he said, "Uh, Clive, maybe this isn't the best time to..." Clive rubbed firmly till the points of the younger man's nipples thrust sharply against the thin green fabric. Clive leaned down and gave the right peak a sharp nip. "Or maybe it is." 

 

"Go on and strip, pet." He smiled lasciviously. "But leave the gloves and mask. I do so love kink." 

 

"I... uh... I sort of ought to keep the trunks on, because... You see, the tights... I never know how long I'm going to be in costume, so we had to..." 

 

"Yes, I'm familiar with the concept of the comfort opening." 

 

Robin blinked. "How?" 

 

"Let's just say that you aren't the only caped hunk I've ever been with." 

 

Robin pointed. "You and BATS?" 

 

"No." Clive smirked. "Not yet, anyway." 

 

"Well, thank goodness. If you had, it would mean that I've been wasting a lot of time by not crawling into his bed for the last couple of years." 

 

"You HAVE been wasting time, pet. Shame on you, but we can discuss that later." Clive pushed the shirt up, revealing washboard abs, and the dark, hard nipples. He licked first one, then the other. "We'd better get under cover, lamb, before this dampness gives you a chill. Strip and on your back." 

 

Robin made short work of the rest of his clothes, retaining the gloves and mask as Clive had instructed. "On second thought, put the boots back on." Robin did. Clive sighed. "You're a fetishists dream, except most of them don't usually picture their fantasy objects as goosebumped and shivering. Down." Robin lay on the spread blanket, shifting nervously. "Dear, why so shy? It isn't as if we haven't 'been here' before." 

 

"Yes, well, that was in a pitch black cloak room." 

 

Clive laughed. "There's no one around to see." As he dropped his shirt there was a rush of wings and a bright bird darted over their heads to settle high in the rafters. "Well, perhaps aside from one of your namesakes. Just look at how fluffed up that poor little thing is." 

 

Clive looked down at the younger man, and his smile became sly. Still wearing his pants and boots, he dropped to his knees, straddling Robin's legs. "Let's see about getting YOU fluffed up, shall we?" 

 

Robin let his head drop back as Clive took him into his mouth, caressing the underside with his tongue. "Uhhhhn-believable." 

 

It was quiet for a little while, save for the young hero's increasingly ragged breathing, and some very enthusiastic slurping. Finally Clive pulled free with a final lick, and Robin groaned. "You're not stopping NOW, are you?" 

 

Clive was opening his fly. "Have you done anything I should know about that might piss me off, lamb?" Robin shook his head vigorously. "Well, then... You see..." he pushed down his pants and lay in the vee of Robin's quickly spread legs, "I don't use sex as a weapon." 

 

"What?" 

 

"Quote from an interesting song Scribe sang for me once. Now, concentrate." He started to move. After a few minutes of increasingly active motion, Clive said, "Tell me, dear, have you furthered your experience since that little incident at the auction, back among the woolens?" 

 

Robin's face was flushed. "I thought you wanted me to CONCENTRATE." 

 

"Well, precious, if you can't talk and hump at the same time..." Clive started to get up. 

 

"No!" Robin grabbed his shoulders. When he saw the arch look, he said quickly. "There's been a few incidents. A little." 

 

"Excellent." Clive started humping again. "Tell." 

 

"I thought a gentleman didn't tell?" 

 

"Usually he doesn't, but you don't have to use names, pet, and this IS a dream, after all." Robin bit his lip. "Well?" 

 

"I've... sort of parked." 

 

"A wonderful beginning. Groping? Dry humping? More?" 

 

"Mostly just kissing, but I DID get a hand job." 

 

"Just one? Tsk. And why are you blushing?" 

 

"Well, it was... uh..." 

 

Clive pinched his hip. "Tell." 

 

"It... it was with a girl." 

 

Clive laughed. "You look like you expect me to be horrified. Lambie, I LIKE girls, quite a bit. Ask Scribe some day. It's just that when I have to choose, I usually lean one direction a little more strongly. Girls are absolutely fine..." he gave Robin a sever look. "As long as you're CAREFUL. The poor dears have more complications to worry about than we do." 

 

"Sheesh, Clive, give me credit. I DID have sex education class--which I suddenly realized was woefully inadequate when I was alone with you in the dark." 

 

"I love flattery, as long as it's sincere." 

 

"Hey, what are you doing with my utility belt?" 

 

"I'm going to utilize it, of course." 

 

"Heck, Clive, do I have to? All the metal on that darn belt is COLD." 

 

"Hm? Oh, not that, pet. I'm just looking for supplies." *blink* "Now, why on earth would you need dental floss?" 

 

"That's a high tensile, compact climbing rope." 

 

"Well, it's a DAMN good thing you wear gloves, darling. That looks like it could slice your palms to ribbons. A quarter?" 

 

"You never know when the batteries could run out on the portable bat phone, and you'd need to make a phone call." 

 

"Sensible. What's this flat plastic square? I know! It's a device for unlocking doors. You slide it between the door and the jamb and wiggle it." 

 

"I suppose you COULD do that--but actually it's just my Spiderman Club Membership card. What sort of supplies are you looking for?" Clive gave him A Look. "Oh. I don't carry any of those. If Bats ever did a spot check, he'd flip." 

 

"Yet again I tell you--you might be surprised. Anyway, also as I've said before, this is MY dream, and so... Ta-da!" 

 

Robin stared at the tube of lubricant that Clive had fished out of some hidden receptacle in his utility belt. "How do you do that?" 

 

"Simple--I'm Clive." 

 

"What about a condom?" 

 

"Dear, this is a dream--we really don't need it. But bless your safety-conscious little heart for remembering. If you want, I'll find one, but since this is a dream, I don't think you'll insist." 

 

Robin seemed to think about this, frowning. "For some strange reason, I believe you. Okay." 

 

"Grand. But if I ever hear of you doing this in real life, the spanking will NOT be for funsies." Clive was still kneeling between Robin's spread legs. "Lift them and grab your knees, dear." Robin obeyed. Clive sighed as he opened the tube and squirted some of the gel on his fingers. "Mmm... I wouldn't mind a picture of that for my private Christmas cards." 

 

Clive was rubbing his fingers together, and Robin said, "Clive? There's a draft?" 

 

"It's a barn, pretty boy--of COURSE there's a draft. Don't try to rush me--lube can be uncomfortably cool at the best of times. Imagine what it would feel like in this weather if I didn't warm it." Clive leaned forward, reaching down, spreading the slippery substance around the boy's anus. Robin shivered, and Clive said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I'd warmed it enough." 

 

"Not why I shivered, Clive. Damn it, I'm not in the right position to push onto your finger." 

 

"Just hang on, Robin, and I'll give you your perch." Clive tickled around the puckered opening till Robin was visibly sweating, and his cock was lying along his belly in eager rigidity. Then he pushed firmly, sliding one slick finger deep into the tight passage and beginning to work it in and out. Clive hummed happily as he carefully, but efficiently began to open the way. He soon added a second finger, then felt until he located the small bump of Robin's prostate. He rubbed gently. The boy drew his knees back almost to his chest, making a happy sound. Clive said dryly, "Birds aren't supposed to purr, pet." 

 

"Learned it from Catwoman." 

 

"Oo, that interesting woman in vinyl, with the whip? I'd like to meet her sometime." 

 

"Excuse me interrupting your thought process, but could you please fuck me now?" 

 

"God, always so polite." Clive grabbed Robin's knees, edging forward. 

 

Robin moaned in delight as he was filled, Clive's thick cock sliding in to the very limit. When he felt the older man's balls nestle against his own, he grunted. "Man! I didn't remember you being THIS big!" 

 

"Different angle of thrust, pet. After all, we did the vertical boogie in the cloak room--this position give pretty much the deepest penetration." He slid back till he was almost out, then slammed back in. Robin squawked. "Now, THAT'S a more appropriate sound. Let's try again." 

 

Clive set up a pace that would have been punishing if they both weren't getting so much pleasure out of it. Clive leaned down, pressing Robin's knees back toward his shoulders, watching his face to be sure that he wasn't causing the boy too much discomfort. Robin just smiled, squeezing down on him. "I'm WAY limber, Clive. And remember, I come from a circus family." 

 

"You're a true treasure, pet." Clive leaned the last couple of inches and kissed him. "I'd say that Batman is a fool for not jumping you already, but I have to admire his ethics and self-restraint. I know how damn hard it was to keep my hands off Trenton till he hit the magic age of consent. Couple of times there I thought it might be easier if I just put on chastity belts on both of us till the time came." 

 

Robin grinned. "Not just on you?" 

 

"My dear, you haven't met Trent--you don't know what a tease the dear boy is, God bless him. Oh, lord..." He moaned as his heavy balls drew up tight, then emptied their contents. Robin joined him in groaning as he felt the hot spurt of liquid deep inside. Clive released on of Robin's knees and reached down to grab the boy's hardened cock with still slick fingers. He tugged almost roughly once, twice, and was rewarded with a small, warm gush of spunk. 

 

Clive pulled out gently, then used a corner of the blanket to wipe both of them clean. He lay down beside Robin, then pulled the cape over them--it just covered them when they spooned, and curled up. 

 

Robin sighed happily. "I have no idea how the heck this happened, but I'm glad it did." 

 

Clive yawned. "It's a lovely concept called 'lucid dreaming', pet. You really ought to look into it." He shivered. "Are you cold?" 

 

"Mm, no. Exercise is SO warming, and the cape is designed to be good insulation." 

 

"There was the exercise, there's the cape, and you're a proper little hot water bottle." He shivered again. "Why am I still feeling chilled?" It was getting dark in the barn. He couldn't see Robin, even as close as he was. "I'd say that perhaps it's because the sun has gone down, but it still seems a bit extreme." Eyes closed, Clive frowned. His arms were empty. *How did that happen?* "Where did you go?" 

 

"I'm right here, Clive. It's freezing in here." 

 

"Yes, I know." He reached out. "Get back here and share body heat." 

 

The laugh was familiar. "Sounds like a plan to me, but you COULD just turn up the thermostat." 

 

"In a barn?" 

 

Pause. "Clive, wake up." 

 

He was gently shaken. Clive opened his eyes to bright lights. He sat up, looking around. He was in his private station, on his special chair, and Trenton was standing beside him, with an amused, puzzled look on his handsome face. "I thought you'd smack anyone who dared to call this place a barn." 

 

"Oh. All done, precious?" 

 

Trenton nodded. "I closed up about fifteen minutes ago, and did the cash register for you. We're all ready to go." Clive was rubbing his arms, and Trenton reached over and did so, too. "Babe, why didn't you turn up the heat, or at least put one of the ponchos over yourself?" 

 

"Didn't think to. Didn't fell like getting up." 

 

"Uh-huh. And what would you do to me if I slept in such a cold room with no covers." 

 

Clive pressed his lips firmly together, but Trenton folded his arms and gave him a mock stern look. The corners of Clive's lips twitched, and finally he said, "I'd probably warm your bottom manually for not taking better care of yourself." He stood up and turned around, sticking out his bottom. "One free." 

 

Trenton gave one taut buttock a smart slap, but left his hand there in a lingering caress. "What were you dreaming? Things usually get very interesting after you've been dreaming." 

 

Clive put his arm around Trenton's shoulder and led him toward the door. He flipped off the lights and they started through the darkened salon. "I'll tell you on the way home. First of all, let me observe that many verses that are now considered nursery rhymes were once written about very adult subjects..."


	8. Chapter 8: A two: Dirty Deeds Down at the Morgue

  
Author's notes: Fandom: Crossing Jordan/Cliveverse  
Pairing: Clive/Woody  
Summary: Clive spends some quality time with one of Boston's finest.  


* * *

"Yeah, well, that's one of the down sides of the job," said Woody. "In my line o work, I don't see too many people who are having a good day. Do you think I could have my hand back sometime soon?"

 

"If you insist." Clive let go.

 

Woody put away his ID. "And who might you be?"

 

"The answer to your prayers."

 

Woody blinked. "Excuse...?"

 

"Clive."

 

"Clive who?"

 

"I let the little ones call me Mister Clive, but aside from that, just Clive."

 

"Uh-huh. Could I see some ID?"

 

"Why not?" Clive pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and showed Woody his driver's license. 

 

Woody blinked. "I'll be damned--Clive. No last name?"

 

"It wasn't who I was. I jettisoned it long ago."

 

Clive was giving Woody a once over, so Woody returned the favor. "Those are the second tightest leather pants I've ever seen."

 

"Thank you. You should see the pair I wear when I go clubbing."

 

Woody blinked. "You have a tighter pair?"

 

"My last present from my lover was scented talcum powder to make it easier for me to get them on and off." Clive smiled. "Trent likes to play valet--or rather body slave." Woody's mouth dropped open. "That's a good look for you."

 

"Do you know a guy named Nigel Townsend? You seem like you'd get along."

 

"Not yet, but I hope to, soon. Well, Mister Hoyt, now that we've introduced ourselves, what do you suggest we do?"

 

"I don't know about you. I'm going over to the ME's office."

 

"It isn't just outside, down the hall?"

 

Woody frowned. "What gave you that idea?"

 

"The sign." Clive went and opened the door, ready to point at the sign a few yards down the hall. It wasn't there. "Yee-ah. I should have expected that." Clive peered up and down the hall. It was so empty that it echoed, indicating that not only was it empty, and the whole FLOOR was empty, but the entire building and quite possibly the city was empty. "Should have expected that, too." He looked back at Woody. "Mind if I come along?"

 

Woody shrugged. "Suits me. What sort of business do you have there?"

 

"Don't be rude, dear." They stepped out into the hall, and Clive got an idea. He fondly remembered a couple of scenes from the show, and said casually, "Don't you want to change your shirt before you go?"

 

Woody looked puzzled. "Why?"

 

"I think if you check, you'll see that you NEED to change your shirt. Virile masculine musk is one thing--funk is another."

 

"Look, I took a shower and put on a fresh shirt just this morning, and I haven't been chasing any suspects, or digging through dumpsters, so..."

 

"Check."

 

Woody was going to continue protesting, but instead he found himself lifting his arm and sniffing his own pit. His head jerked back. "Where the hell did THAT come from? You're right. Thanks."

 

Clive's smile was sharp. "Don't mention it. Shall we adjourn to your office?"

 

"Why?"

 

"You keep a clean shirt there, don't you?"

 

Woody blinked. "How do you know that?"

 

"I'm psychic, among other things. Shall we?"

 

Woody gave him a dubious look, but let the way up the hall. Clive peeked into a few rooms as they passed, and he'd been right--there was no one. Typical dream scenario. *I knew I could fall asleep at that table, but I had no idea I could sleep sound enough to enter dream state.* Since Woody was leading him, he could get a good look at his ass. Clive cast his eyes upward. *Don't think I'm not grateful, though.*

 

It wasn't the smallest office on the face of the Earth, but it wasn't going to win any 'Spacious and Airy' awards. They entered, and Clive shut the door after them. When Woody looked back at him, he smiled. "Never can tell what might wander in."

 

"Yeah, I guess." Woody loosened his tie and pulled it off. "This won't take a minute."

 

"Oh, take your time, take your time." Clive leaned back against the door. "To quote somebody or other, slowly, slowly. It's too nice a job to rush."

 

Woody paused in pulling off his jacket. "Columbia, Rocky Horror Picture Show."

 

"I knew you had hidden depths." Clive flicked his fingers at him. "Go on. Don't you want to be nice and fresh when you visit Nigel and Bug?"

 

Woody finished removing his jacket. "With all the weird smells in the lab and morgue, I hardly know why I bother."

 

"Good grooming is never a waste." Woody unbuttoned a cuff, then stopped, looking around. "Yes?"

 

"I thought I heard humming."

 

"That's no reason to stop. Get on with it."

 

Woody unbuttoned the other cuff, and stopped again, looking around. "I could swear I heard humming."

 

"Air conditioner?"

 

"Since when did air conditioners learn to hum 'The Stripper'?" He started to unbutton his shirt, but stopped after two. "It's you, isn't it?"

 

"If I promise to stop, will you go ahead?"

 

"Uh..."

 

"You know, I noticed that you had both Bug and Jordan in here when you changed your shirt, but you only asked Jordan to turn around."

 

"Well..."

 

"And you joked with Bug about sexual harassment."

 

Clive was coming closer. Woody backed up. "Joked being the operative word."

 

"Riiight. For the last time, are you going to finish taking that off?"

 

Woody clutched the edges of the shirt together. "Maybe I'll just spritz on some cologne."

 

"Oh, I DON'T think so. If you need assistance..." Clive quickly grabbed the shirt edges and jerked outward, and down. 

 

The last few buttons popped and flew, and Jerry found himself with his arms neatly trapped at his side by the shirt. "Hey!"

 

"I did warn you." Clive gave his torso an approving glance. "Mm, no t-shirt, and practically hairless. I like the smooth look, but I like bears, too. I'm not entirely sure where Trent falls in that range, since we've been keeping him shaved and waxed since the body hair started coming in really well."

 

Jerry knew, logically, that he really ought to be thrashing or yelling for help... or something. But somehow all he could do was stare at the man who was confining him. "He has himself waxed all over?"

 

"He doesn't HAVE it done. I do it for him, and we both really prefer using the straight razor." He smiled. "It's a sort of bonding time for us, and it brings back fond memories. Woody, do you know what a safe word is?"

 

"I talk with Vice. Yeah, I know."

 

"Good. Safe word for today is 'cheese'."

 

"Cheese? Oh, I get it. Wisconsin." Clive had moved in closer. Woody tried to back up some more, but the back of his thighs hit the edge of the desk. He cleared his throat. "Look, I'm not saying that this situation isn't interesting..." Clive moved closer. One of his legs nudged between Woody's a firm thigh coming in contact with the firmness that was growing at Woody's crotch. Woody gulped, "VERY interesting. But someone could come in."

 

"I know. Hot, isn't it?" Clive shifted, rubbing.

 

"Ye-- NO! I have things to do. I don't want to... to... whatever right now."

 

"Just right now?"

 

"I said I'm not interested."

 

"Then why are your nipples hard?"

 

Woody glanced down in surprise. Sure enough his nipples were drawn up into tight brown points. There was an edge of desperation in his expression as he looked back up at Clive. "Air conditioning."

 

"Then why are you starting to sweat?"

 

"I... uh... I had jalapenos for lunch!"

 

Clive lunged forward, bending Woody back over the desk in a taut arch, and kissed him hard. It involved tongue. When he pulled back, the detective was gasping. Clive licked his lips, then purred, "If you really aren't interested, just use the safe word. Don't lie to me, you naughty boy. Lying earns a spanking."

 

Woody stared. "You're fucking kidding me."

 

Clive smiled again, but his eyes were stern. Woody hadn't used the safe word. Clive was a Dom about to show a new sub exactly what they both were. "And cursing earns more strokes. But I tell you what--if you're a good boy, and take it like a man, you'll get a reward when it's over."

 

Clive let go of the shirt and took a step back. Voice firm, he said, "Take off that shirt, then lower your pants." Woody stared at him. "The longer you stall, the longer the spanking. If I have to tell you again, I'm using my belt instead of my hand."

 

"I don't believe this," Woody muttered, shrugging out of the shirt. He automatically folded it and put it aside. Clive nodded in approval. This was what any sub would know to do, if not ordered to do otherwise. He unbuckled his belt, then opened his fly, and pushed his pants down.

 

When Woody started to work his foot out of one leg, Clive said sharply, "I said lower them--not take them off." When Woody hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, Clive said, "And leave those on, too. For the time being." He smiled again, "But aren't you sweet to offer?"

 

Woody blushed hotly. What the hell was he thinking, automatically starting to get naked with this man? Still, there was something about Clive that inspired nudity. Clive twirled his finger. "Turn around, bend over the desk, and brace yourself."

 

"I've undoubtedly gone insane," said Woody, as he obeyed.

 

"I doubt it. I think it's more likely that you're just saying hello to another side of yourself. Spread your legs."

 

Woody looked back over his shoulder in alarm. "Why?"

 

Clive put his hands on his hips. "Balance, foolish child. I've already told you, you're not getting a treat unless you take the punishment well. Do it." Woody shifted his feet a little farther apart. "Now, then. Try not to make too much noise." Clive's smile turned wicked. "Remember, you don't want anyone passing by getting curious."

 

"Wait..." Clive's rigid palm *and don't think the term 'rigid' didn't occur to Woody* smacked sharply down on Woody's right buttock. Woody didn't yelp, but he DID inhale sharply. It STUNG. He said so. "That stings!"

 

"It's supposed to, pet. It's to remind you to be a good boy." He smacked the left buttock. "How about that?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Good." Clive rested his right hand on the small of Woody's back, not holding him, but just making him aware of the fact that he COULD hold him. "Here's a bit of advice--don't tense your buttocks. Though I love a tight ass," he stroked one cheek caressingly, and Woody swallowed hard, "It'll be less painful for you if you relax a little. Now that I've got the range..."

 

Clive started to briskly spank Woody. The blows were not brutal, but they were no-nonsense. The first couple of blows hadn't been much, but the accumulation... Soon Woody found himself flinching, with a distinct heat rising in his butt. As if to confirm Woody's thoughts, Clive said. He hooked a finger in the boxers' waistband and pulled, peering down inside. "You ought to see what a pretty pink color you're getting, Woodrow," he said, letting the elastic snap back.

 

A little breathlessly, Woody said, "No one calls me Woodrow but my Mom. Come to think of it, she's the only one who's ever spanked me, too. Boy, THAT'S a disturbing thought."

 

"I thought that Nigel called you Woodrow occasionally."

 

Woody's eyes got round. "That's disturbing, too."

 

"Think about that." *smack* "It's probably significant." *smacksmacksmack*

 

"Ow!"

 

"Oh, very good! You held out much longer than I expected you to. You get something nice for that." 

 

There was another sharp slap to Woody's aching rear, but at the same time a large, warm hand closed over the front of his boxers--the (he was surprised to find when he looked down) distinctly tented front of his boxers. While he was contemplating the fact that he'd gotten a rampant hard-on while he was being spanked by another man, Clive moved up behind him, with his left arm going around Woody's waist to pull him against his body. Woody felt the warm slickness of leather against the backs of his bare thighs, and he could feel his cock twitch under the enveloping palm. "Oh, damn. Are you going to...? Look, I never..."

 

"Thought so. No, dear, I'm not going to fuck you--not this time, anyway. I think I'll let someone else have that joy." Clive's hand slipped into the fly and made contact with bare flesh. Woody moaned, and Clive crooned, "Oh, VERY nice." He stroked firmly, and humped his crotch against Woody's strawberry pink ass. "You just keep your hands on the desk and enjoy." He started quickly to masturbate the young man.

 

Woody closed his eyes, feeling the pleasure building. Being a good looking, healthy young buck, he'd had his share of hand jobs from pretty girls. He admitted to himself that none of them could compare to what he was getting right now. *Hell, most of the blow jobs haven't come close,* he thought. *What the hell have I been missing?*

 

Woody found himself grinding his ass back against the firm bulge that was poking at his cloth covered crack. Clive nipped him sharply on the shoulder, and Woody yelped, thrusting forward into his tight grip. "I said I'm not going to fuck you, you tease," Clive scolded. He squeezed, tightening his grip till it was just on the pleasurable side of pain. At the same time Clive pinched Woody's left nipple hard. 

 

Woody cried out, hips jerking, and did something he'd never done, not even when he was in the 'damn, that table leg looks hot' stage of adolescence--he came in his shorts. Clive kissed the spot he'd bitten on Woody's shoulder, released him, and stepped back. "At ease, precious."

 

Woody collapsed face down on the desk for a moment. When he righted himself and turned to sit on the edge of the desk, Clive was studying the slick come smearing his fingers. "Um, sorry. There's some tissues on the desk."

 

"Don't apologize, Woodrow. It's a compliment. And there's no need to waste your tissues." Woody stared as Clive calmly licked his fingers clean. "Hm. You know, if you eat more fruit, it generally makes the spunk a little less salty."

 

"This can't be happening. I must be dreaming."

 

"An interesting concept, especially when I consider how I got here. Now, you're a healthy young man, so I'm going to assume you don't need a rest before we head off for the morgue."

 

"No, I'm good."

 

"Good? Pet, you're fucking MAGNIFICENT."

 

Woody could feel himself blushing again as he bent down and grabbed at his pants--and was confronted by the spreading wet spot on his boxers. "Oh, crap! I don't have any clean underwear here."

 

"Oh, what a shame. I guess you'll just have to go commando, then. Shuck 'em off."

 

Woody started to do that, grumbling, "What happens if I have an accident?"

 

"I doubt that will happen, since I'm not dreaming about Third Watch."

 

"What?"

 

"Don't worry about it."

 

"I guess you're right." Woody finished removing his underwear, and put his pants back on. As he zipped up his fly he said, "After all, no one is going to find out."

 

Clive thought about Nigel and Bug, and what he intended to do with lucid dreaming when he got to them. "You keep telling yourself that, precious."


End file.
